The Tragical Tale of Teaboy
by bittersweet26
Summary: Some Ianto-centric drabbles, each one based on a particular moment/line from the show, in no particular chronological order. Results may vary from teeth-crackingly saccharine to industrial strength angst. Janto because I love them. Ianto cos he is awesome
1. There Are No Phones

**Based on the scene from Sleeper where the phones are down, and Ianto does his excellent phone rant… you gotta love it, his timing is just too perfect. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Gareth David Lloyd, a blessing to the world because if I did he would be locked in my bedroom FOREVER and we would have no Ianto. Ahhh! Bad thought!!**

Owen liked taunting Ianto, but not for the reasons one might suppose. It wasn't because he was so neat and efficient – Owen knew for a fact that without Ianto's prodigious ability to organise twenty-seven things at once and still be there for everyone else the various member of Torchwood would have killed themselves through lack of information, lack of coffee, overwork, a diet consisting solely of pizza and beer, or in Jack's case no one to shag senseless when he was feeling lonely.

It wasn't because Ianto had to do the menial jobs, though Owen always felt a bit of smug satisfaction that it wasn't him. It wasn't even due to how annoyingly bloody good Ianto was at everything… in fact, though he would never admit it, he was a little intimidated by the seemingly endless list of "things we had no idea Ianto could do."

No, he liked taunting Ianto for a very different reason. At the moment, though, he had more important things to do then muse on why he so loved to torment teaboy. At the moment they were stuck in the Hub with a possible alien invasion hanging over their heads, and according to Tosh there was no way to contact Jack.

"The network is down."

"Can't you patch something through, just for a moment…"

"The network is down. There are no phones."

"What about a mobile?"

This turned out to be more than a certain young Welshman could put up with.

"Mobiles, landlines, tin cans with bits of string, everything, absolutely everything: no phones, phones all broken." Ianto held his hand up to his ear in imitation of a phone call. "Hello? Anyone there? No! 'Cause the phones aren't working!"

Tosh laughed, and Owen threw Ianto a filthy look. It hadn't been _that _funny. Besides, being laughed at didn't help his growing sense of powerlessness. For once, Owen didn't feel like joking.

"What happens if they don't stop it?"

Tosh looked at him oddly before attempting reassurance. Apparently the fact that they were stuck in the Hub, completely useless and without any way of contacting Jack and Gwen didn't bother her at all. Nor did it seem to bother teaboy. As much as their blind faith annoyed him, a part of him wished he could trust that much too.

"They'll stop it."

"But what if they don't?"

This time Ianto replied.

"Then it's all… over."

Owen didn't like the sound of that. He didn't want it to be over. There were so many things he hadn't done. So many So many things he hadn't said. Like that Tosh was actually quite adorable sometimes, and very smart, and that Ianto made the best coffee he had ever tasted. There were so many things he didn't know, like how it felt to bungee jump, or what caviar tasted like, or why Americans all have such good teeth, or what the world would be like if you had a million trillion dollars. Now he would never know. He may only have minutes left, and he couldn't do any of the things he wanted to do.

Except…well, he had always wondered how Tosh would kiss, and what it was that Ianto did that made Jack have that dreamy, cross eyed look when he left the conference room with a few tell-tale buttons missing off his shirt.

"Lets all have sex."

Ianto fixed him with a long-suffering look.

"And I thought the end of the world couldn't get any worse."

Owen had the unpleasant experience of not being able to come up with a reply. It wasn't an experience he had often, and it wasn't one he liked…especially since, a little while later, they discovered that Jack and Gwen had in fact stopped the end of the world and now he had to pretend that awkward conversation never occurred. So he hid out in the autopsy room for a while, and continued his previously interrupted self-analysis.

Owen liked taunting Ianto, but not for the reasons one might suppose. It wasn't because he was so neat and efficient. It wasn't because Ianto had to do the menial jobs. It wasn't even due to how annoyingly bloody good Ianto was at everything.

The main reason Owen liked taunting Ianto was because the young Welshman could give as good as he got. And, like today, sometimes one better.


	2. Are you leaving again, Jack?

**Thought I'd follow up the fluff wit a little quality angst – this one is from the absolutely heartbreaking way Ianto asks Jack if he is going to leave again in that scene from Kiss Kiss Bang Bang. At least, I thought it was heartbreaking. My poor baby Ianto…**

**Disclaimer: If love is ownership, they are mine. But it isn't. Which is shitty.**

Gwen was mad. She was _really_ mad. How dare he just… just waltz back in as if nothing had happened, as if they would just all go weak at the knees when they saw him?

"You left us!"

He hit the wall with a satisfying thud as she channeled all her frustration into an aggressive shove.

"I know. I'm sorry."

Shit. She had promised herself she would stay angry. Why did he have to sound so genuine, so apologetic? Damn Jack bloody Harkness…

"We knew _nothing, _Jack!"

Tosh took the next turn to question, her tone wavering between annoyed and curious.

"Where were you?"

"I… I found my Doctor."

Now Owen.

"Did he fix you?"

An odd expression flickered across Jack's face, instantly covered by his trademark 100-watt smile.

"What's to fix? You don't mess with this level of perfection."

"Are you going back to him?"

When Ianto spoke Gwen felt her heart break. It was amazing that a single question, spoken in such a soft and restrained manner, could carry so much hurt. She didn't understand how he wasn't bitter, or jealous of this "Doctor". Hell, _she _was jealous of the way his eyes lit up when he talked about his Doctor, about how this mysterious man would make everything right… and she wasn't even in love with Jack. Well, not much. Not really. He was exciting, and she cared for him, but when it came down to it she loved Rhys. Her love for Jack was the kind of infatuation that you might have for a teacher, or a movie star, or the singer from your favourite band with the sexy break in their voice. It was real and strong, but it survived only because nothing could or would ever come of it.

But Ianto didn't sound jealous. He didn't even sound angry at Jack for abandoning them just when they had started to be a _team…_a team that relied on each other. Instead, Ianto had just sounded resigned. Of course, that was typical Ianto. The mysterious 'teaboy', so easy to ignore and underestimate. When Gwen had first arrived one of the first things she noticed about him was an almost unearthly ability to detect when someone was hurting. Now she knew one more thing - he never let his own hurt show until it was too late.

After Jack had left it had almost seemed to Gwen that Ianto just _stopped. _Not literally; he kept bringing them all coffee, doing all the paperwork, manning the desk and everything else he usually did. He helped her get her bearings when she decided to take charge. He took up field work, joining them to make up the numbers, because all their tactics were designed for four. And he did everything to the same level of efficiency he always had.

It's just that from Gwen's perspective it was like Ianto's body and Ianto's brain were functioning independently from Ianto's… for lack of a better word… soul. There were no little smiles or deadpan comments, no knowing glances across the room when Owen said something nasty to Tosh. It was exactly what had happened with Lisa – but back then Jack had been around and had somehow managed to distract Ianto enough to allow him to recover.

None of them could make him talk. He would brush them off, saying he was fine, reminding them that they had a job to do. The biggest concession he ever made was to Tosh, when he gently stopped her not-so-subtle attempts at bringing up the topic of Jack and told her that he "didn't plan on making anyone else carry his burden for him". After a while, he just blended back into the background again, until that day, three months after Jack had left…

_When she arrived at the Hub it was open, and that was surprising – Gwen had been sure she would be the first one in. They had had a hell of a night… Weevils in a shopping mall, two false alarms from opposite sides of the city and one mist-like creature with a taste for expensive shoes. And they had managed to blow up half a MacDonald's in the process. God only knew how Ianto would manage to smooth that one over. _

_As she walked up the stairs she noticed the lights were on, but there was no movement, no wafting scent of coffee or the soft chatter of Tosh. The autopsy lab was silent._

_This wasn't good. Her gun… where was her gun? She gripped it close to her leg, half crouching as she made her way up the rest of the stairs, eyes fixed on the main floor. Something was lying there. Something dark, sprawled on the ground... finally she just lunged, covering the last few steps with a bound until she was standing over it. What she saw made her feel sick with fear. It was Ianto. _

_He lay motionless on the floor. He was so pale, and for the first time she realised how thin he had become. He was curled halfway into the fetal position, looking for all the world like he was trying to ward something off, but there were no marks on him. His breathing was almost imperceptible, his heartbeat faint. Frantically Gwen shook his shoulders, looking for any sign, any reaction. Her gun lay unnoticed where she had dropped it. He didn't respond, and she groped for a phone._

"_Owen! Get here... Get here now! He's hurt! Ianto is hurt, I don't know…he's not bleeding, but he's not moving… Oh God, I don't know what to do…"_

"_Calm down. I'm coming. Hold his head up, Make sure he's breathing freely. Don't move until I get there."_

_Ten minutes later Owen was there, and Tosh was right behind him. Together the two women waited nervously outside the autopsy bay, unwilling to crowd their doctor but scared to go to far from where the youngest member of their team lay unconscious. Finally Owen emerged._

"_What is it? An alien? If it's still here…"_

"_It's no alien." For some reason Owen wasn't meeting their eyes. _

"_Is he sick?"_

"_Sort of." Owen looked up, his angry words negated by the worry in his voice. "He collapsed from exhaustion. That, and as far as I can make out he hasn't eaten in days. He's wearing the same bloody clothes he was wearing last night – the idiot must have just kept working until he fell over."_

_Gwen stared. Surely not… they would have noticed something like that. Wouldn't they? With a sinking feeling she realised that she had never arrived before Ianto before, and he was always the last to leave. Ever since Jack left. And she literally couldn't remember the last time she had seen him eat something._

_Tosh looked like she was about to cry, and pushed past Owen to go stand by Ianto's bed. Gwen silently joined her, but Owen stayed outside, swearing quietly to himself. As the day wore on, they took it in turns to stay with him._

_When he finally woke up it was Gwen who was leaning over him. She smiled at him through sudden tears, and answered the question in his eyes._

"_You collapsed. You've been working too hard, Ianto."_

_Ianto lowered his eyes, his reply a faint murmur._

"_I didn't mean to. I'm sorry."_

"_Sorry? Oh Ianto! Bloody hell, don't apologise. But you need to realise hurting yourself isn't going to bring Jack back. Starving yourself won't work either."_

"_That's not what it is, Gwen. I just… I didn't notice. None of that seemed very important."_

_Ianto pulled himself up to sitting position and looked her straight in the eyes._

"_I'm sorry I scared you. I promise I won't do it again. I'll be ok, Gwen."_

_She just nodded, and then Tosh ran in and threw her arms around him, giving him a bear hug like only she could give. Last of all came Owen, who pushed his way into Ianto's face and yelled for a bit. In their own way, they each tried to show him how much they cared, and prove to him that he was wanted. Gwen just hoped it was enough._

Now Gwen watched as Ianto stood there so straight and still, waiting for Jack to reply, and felt an overwhelming urge to do something very violent if their newly-returned Captain didn't say the right thing.

"I came back for you."

Jack looked straight into Ianto's eyes as he said this, but only for a moment before he turned his intense gaze on the others.

"For all of you."

Gwen sighed. As soon as she got him alone, Gwen had a few words she was going to throw at Captain Jack. Someone needed to protect Ianto from his own ability to love unconditionally. Putting his relationship with the whole team first, ahead of his personal relationship, was the action of a true leader. There was no denying Jack was a true leader. The only problem being that Ianto was the one who paid the price.


	3. What did you mean, innovative?

**Something short and silly to ****alleviate the sadness, because as much as I love writing anguished-Ianto I can't bear to torture him for long. References stuff said in Reset and They Keep Killing Suzie.**

**Thanks to ****everyone who could be bothered reviewing for saying such nice things about my (decidedly inferior) writing. I love you all. **

**Disclaimer: Until the day (and it will come, oh yes, it will…) that I go on a killing spree in the BBC and claim all Torchwood for my own… they are free.**

"Ianto?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"What did you mean by… innovative?"

"Exactly what I said, Sir. You are very creative."

"Creative how?"

"Uhh… locations, for one thing. It's amazing how efficiently you can use a small space. And your… accessorising. You know, it was Owen who got the bill from the costume shop. I think you traumatised him for life."

"Really?"

"Yeah. His face went green."

"Haha!"

"That's what Tosh said."

"So… you don't like my, uh… accessorising?"

"I never said that."

…

…

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"What are you holding?"

"Nothing."

"Jack, you just put it in your pants pocket. I _saw _you."

"No I didn't."

"Yes you did."

"Nope."

"Jack, this is childish…show me."

"No."

…

…

CRASH

…

…

"Ianto?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"Not that I don't _like _it when you're lying on top of me…but that was quite an aggressive lunge there…across a desk and everything… what are you – oh. Do that again."

"You have a dirty mind, Harkness. Got it! It's… oh hell. She got one for you."

"Yep."

"I'm not wearing it."

"Pretty please?"

"No. No way."

"What, you won't wear this but you'll let me use a stopwatch to -"

"Finish that sentence and I _will_ kill you."

"It was your idea."

"Not that part! You… you jumped on me!"

"But you liked it, didn't you?"

…

…

"C'mon Yan…Please wear it."

"Nope."

"But… red suits you."

"No!"

"Please? Pleasepleasepleaseplea-"

…

…

"See? Told you it would look sexy."

"Shut up and kiss me."


	4. Vulnerable

**I found Jack's reactions in "Meat" completely insufficient. Ianto had a gun pointed at his neck! More emotion, please! **

**Anyway, I have now proceeded to do what I usually do in circumstances like this, which is write something that explains away anything that doesn't suit my own, very strict, personal worldview. Cue evil laugh, trailing lamely into silence...**

**Based on the line "You love him. That makes you vulnerable", which Jack say****s to Gwen about Rhys. Doesn't actually feature in story, but thats where the feeling of it comes from.**

**Disclaimer: To tired to bother. Make up your own and insert it here.**

It wasn't that Ianto didn't notice. He saw how Gwen folded the instant Rhys was in danger, and how Jack kept to the plan even when Ianto had a gun pressed against his neck. He heard every word when Jack was finally forced to step forward and talk, he listened as Jack didn't mention negotiation or surrender but instead talked about the space-whale. When he worked his way free and wrestled the gun from his captor, was shot at with a gun that somehow had no bullets, he noticed that Jacks first words were orders to go after the gunmen. Afterwards he watched Jack argue with Gwen about retcon and quietly asked Owen to patch him up, because no one had realised he was bleeding.

Ianto noticed all these things, but he knew why Jack was like that… why Jack _had_ to be like that. When the time came, Jack was a hero through and through. He was a wise-cracking, citizen-saving, indestructible, incorrigible, flirtatious, brash and loud American hero with a million dollar smile. And one of the unique features of heroes was that, for them, personal wasn't always the same as important. Jack saw the big picture. Jack did the _right _thing.

Ianto knew he wasn't a hero. When he took down the scum that had caused so much pain to the innocent creature, when he kicked the gun out of his hand and pressed the stun gun to his forehead, Ianto wasn't thinking about justice or duty or protecting innocent space-whales. He was thinking about the people he loved – Gwen, Tosh, Owen and Jack… always, Jack - and how if they got hurt he would tear these people to shreds. For him the people he loved came first, even before his own sense of right and wrong. That's how it had been with Lisa. He wanted to protect her even when she had murdered. He hadn't condoned or forgiven her action – he had just been unable to blame her, so he'd blamed himself instead.

Yes, Jack was a hero. It wasn't something you could learn, it was innate; a strange indefinable quality that set the heroes of the world apart, even if sometimes it wasn't recognised. It wasn't something Jack stop, or he would cease to be _Jack._ Ianto knew that sometimes, for Jack, the right thing to do came before the nice thing to do. He had a responsibility to more than himself, and often the people that loved him paid for it, in small but important ways. But that didn't matter – though it might hurt sometimes, he could take it. It was worth it.

That was why, when Gwen had left with Rhys and Owen was bickering with Tosh, Ianto slipped away and stood at the door to Jack's office. For a while he stared into his drink and fiddled with the button on his waistcoat. Finally, he plucked up the courage and went in.

He needed to tell Jack that he _understood_.

* * *

It never hit him until afterwards. During the missions he never felt the fear, the doubt, the horror, the panic that the thought of losing one of his team would usually bring. It was like he could just take all that and put it somewhere safe and out of the way for a while. It was a form of coping that had developed over many years. Years of loss, years of dying but never being free, years of waiting and wondering why. He became something else.

Owen and Ianto jokingly called it his "knight on a white charger mode", while Gwen would roll her eyes and say he was playing hero again. They only saw the righteous anger. They didn't see the other side. So many decisions made like this. Feeling nothing.

Not normally, anyway. But today he had. Just for the briefest moment, when he had caught Ianto's eyes as the young Welshman stood helpless but defiant with a gun at his neck, Jack had felt the terror. Then Rhys had been shot, and the emotions were gone, pushed away by adrenalin, self-righteous fury, the weight of responsibility and the knowledge he had an objective, a mission to complete.

It lasted right up until the moment Gwen charged back into the hub and refused to retcon Rhys. The devotion she showed broke down his defenses. He relented, wanting to get it over with, knowing what was coming as his mind processed everything that had happened that day.

When it finally hit he did what he always did – he retreated to his office to be alone. Every thought, every emotion came rushing through his mind, drowning him in guilt, grief and fear. If that shot had been just a little to the right Rhys would have been shot through the heart. If there had been a bullet in that gun Ianto would have died alone, lying on a cold floor in alien blood.

No one could know. He refused to let them see him like this. If they saw the weakness then it was all for nothing – they needed him to be invulnerable. So Jack stayed in there alone, loathing the heartless monster time and circumstance had turned him into.

That was why, when Ianto entered quietly and laid his hand on his shoulder, Jack collapsed against him and clung to him, sobbing a plea for forgiveness.

That was why, when Ianto held him close and murmured reassurance in his ear – "There is nothing to forgive, Jack. You did what you had to. I'm here now, Jack. Let me help" – he knew that if he ever lost the young Welshman the universe could go burn, because nothing and no-one had ever meant this much to him.


	5. No one was supposed to get hurt

**I continue the general wrist-slashing mood and existential agonising (I've been having a shitty week – can you tell?) with this fic from the episode "Cyberwoman". I gave up trying to avoid going OTT and just went for it. If you don't like angst, sorry and I promise the next chappie will be pure crack-fuelled cotton-candy fluff, Janto style.**

**To my reviewers: I adore you and I want to have your babies. That is all.**

**Disclaimer: T****rust me, if I owned Torchwood there would be a **_**lot **_**more strip poker. And less Jack/Gwen mushy eye contact. And more of Jack sexually harassing Ianto. **

* * *

_He had only ever done it for love._

"_I'll hide the body. Everything is going to be ok."_

_He had to keep her safe. He had never felt worth anything before she came. She had been the golden girl of Torchwood One, and she had wanted _him_. It had been like a dream, an unbelievable dream, too perfect to last. He loved her. He had always known he would be willing to sacrifice everything for her, but he had never thought that the time would come where he had to do it. Now everything was falling apart. _

_He looked down and saw the blood on his shirt, on his hands._

_Oh god, oh god… He was dragging a body down a corridor, protecting a murderer, helping a killer. It was his fault. He killed this man. How could he have been so stupid?_

_Then he heard the scream. Then he ran back, and saw Gwen._

_No, oh no, no… a chant of denial running through his head. He couldn't let her get hurt. No one else was going to get hurt, no matter what it cost him. Voices ran through his brain, blending together, Jack and Tosh, Gwen screaming. He threw himself at the controls, frantically twisting every switch in sight. No, no, no… he heard Tosh yell in triumph, and everything went black. The machine stopped._

"_Stand guard by the door."_

_There was no pity in that voice. Jack knew._

"_I'm sorry…I'm really sorry…"_

_He followed them numbly. Gwen was talking, asking questions at an impossible rate, Jack replying almost as fast. They fell silent, and he wondered why, then he saw her. Lisa. She looked him straight in the eye. He wanted to run to her, shake her, and beg her to explain. But he didn't. He just watched her walk away._

"_She's gone."_

_Next thing he knew there was a gun pressed against his head, and the relief was overwhelming. It was over._

"_Move!"_

_He didn't resist. He couldn't get the image of Gwen, lying in the conversion unit trapped and terrified, out of his mind. He didn't hear her protest as Jack led him out onto the main floor, didn't notice the shock and disbelief from Owen and Tosh._

"_Jack, what are you doing?"_

"_Resisting the urge to shoot… Tosh, get everything from the weapons room, fast as you can!"_

"_We're locked down – there's no manual override."_

"_Just open the store! You…on your knees. Hands behind your head."_

_He obeyed without a word. There was nothing to say. It was meaningless to try and tell them that he had never believed anyone would get hurt. It was foolish to want them to understand. He knew this, and yet all he wanted to do was say he was sorry._

"_Jack, for Gods sake what are you doing?"_

"_Tosh! I gave you an order! Gwen, help her…" - Now he turned to Ianto – "Did you know that thing was down there?"_

_A sudden surge of anger, and thoughts danced through his mind - Don't be so stupid, Jack. Don't pretend not to understand. I did this, but you let me do it – and he replied steadily, refusing to let his voice shake. _

"_I put her there."_

_Jack moved suddenly, savagely forcing the gun down, forcing Ianto to bow his head. Ianto didn't struggle. He just wanted it to finish._

"_You hid a _cyberman _inside Torchwood and you didn't tell us? What else are you keeping from us?"_

_  
"Like you'd care. I clean up your shit, and that's the way you like it: no questions asked. When's the last time you asked me about my life?"_

_Silence._

"_Her name is Lisa. She's my girlfriend."_

"_Why didn't you tell us? We could have helped you."_

_Gwen, of course. How little she knew._

"_Torchwood exists to destroy alien threats. Why would I tell you about her?"_

"_A bit of loyalty, perhaps…"_

"_My loyalty is to her!"_

_He had to explain. They had to realise there was still a chance- she was still there, still human, still alive. He tried to tell them about Torchwood, about how he had pulled her out of the fire. He tried to make them understand, but Jack was immovable. Finally, he took one last chance._

"_I love her. Can you understand that, Jack? Haven't you ever loved anyone?"_

_It didn't work._

* * *

As Ianto knelt, weeping and shaking over Lisa's body, Jack Harkness watched. As the others slowly went home, exchanging anxious glances and avoiding looking at the dead cyberwoman, Jack Harkness watched. As Ianto's body stilled, his breathing still ragged and his eyes unseeing, Jack Harkness stood on the balcony and watched. It was finished.

He was angry. He was more than angry. He had trusted this man, taken him in, and this is how he was repaid? He had lied to them. Ianto had risked the lives of not only everyone in Torchwood, but everyone on the goddamned planet! This was how genocide began, these creatures spreading like a plague from world to world, because one man was too selfish to see the danger… because one fool was blinded by his emotions. The consequences were astronomic, far-reaching and catastrophic. It was an unforgivable treachery.

And yet, the fact was that he had never meant for anyone to get hurt, and he was so very young and confused. Worse, he was in love. To Jack they were all children, but Ianto was the youngest… how old was he, 23 or 24? Far too young to be doing this job, really. Far too young to have had to live through Canary Wharf. Why, then, was Jack so very angry, so unable to feel any pity or forgiveness? Jack knew he had overreacted. Gwen had been right. To threaten Ianto, put a gun in his face and order him to execute his love or die, it was cruel and far from necessary. But he couldn't help it. This betrayal was personal.

Though Ianto had never actively encouraged Jack's attentions, he had never really indicated that they were unwanted. Glances, brief touches – the young Welshman had always remained just beyond reach, demurely distant. This had driven Jack mad. He had not thought that anyone could have walked away like Ianto had, that night when they caught Myfanwy, let alone a welsh office boy barely out of his teens. He had been rejected, and that had been fascinating. So he had played right into his hands, chasing him, hiring him, giving him what he wanted.

Yes, now he realised Ianto had known what he was doing. He must have. Ianto had used him, used him to get into Torchwood again, used him to keep his hybrid mutilated girlfriend alive. This wasn't right. This couldn't be right! Jack Harkness was never used. He did the using.

How could Ianto do this? How could he be rejected… for that? Not even human anymore. Not really technically alive. 'She's my girlfriend' he had said… 'is', not 'was'. He loved her still. How could she have earned that loyalty, that willingness to do anything for her?

He wanted that loyalty so badly…

Jack felt sick at the realisation that it was jealousy rather than anything else that was causing him to hurt and punish Ianto. It was jealousy that had pulled the trigger on Lisa.

Oh, god. _He _was the monster.

Jack stumbled down the stairs. Ianto was still there… motionless, his face blank as if he was hurt so much that there was nothing that could touch him anymore. Jack went to him, no idea what he was going to do or say, just knowing he had to confront him. Looking at Lisa he felt his anger rising, but he reined it back and grabbed Ianto by the shoulder, pulling him to his feet. The two stared at each other for a long moment, their eyes mirroring pain, guilt, loss and hatred.

It was Ianto who broke the silence, his voice completely devoid of any feeling.

"Hit me."

"What?"

"Hit me. Fire me. Arrest me. Shoot me. Do whatever the hell you want, Jack. I don't care. Just get it over with."

"I'm not going to shoot you. Don't be an idiot."

"Why not. Fuck it, Jack. Innocent people died – three people died because of me! I risked everyone's lives. I betrayed _you_. Now I'm telling you to avenge yourself."

"You were emotionally unstable. Torchwood can make allowances for actions committed when an individual is of unsound mind -"

"No! That's the thing, Jack! I didn't just go crazy. I would do it again. I'm so sorry, so sorry for what happened…"

Here Ianto's voice broke, the apology desperate and hurried.

"…but I'm not sorry for loving her. If I had the chance I would do it again. Differently, but I would still do it. So you better get rid of me, Captain Jack Harkness. I'm a danger to your precious Torchwood. Remember what I said to you? That I would watch you die in pain? You have no reason to show me mercy. You hate me. I see it. You think I don't hate you? You killed her, Jack! So just…JUST FUCKING SHOOT ME!"

The last few words were howled, all Ianto's fury towards Jack combining with the hurt and the grief and the self-hatred. All of it vocalised in a moment, and then he fell. His legs crumpled like they were made of cotton, and he tumbled to his hands and knees.

Jack was kneeling down and his arms were holding the fallen Ianto before his brain realised what they were up to. He crushed the young man to him, trying and failing to stop the shaking. Then he forced his head up, roughly, until their eyes met. And still, he couldn't say what he wanted to say. Instead, as usual, he gave orders.

"Go home. Clean yourself up. Wait a few days. I'll expect you back next Monday."

Ianto just stared, blankly confused and infinitely weary. Too young, too much pain, too much…Jack pulled away, forcing his expression to harden so the younger man couldn't see his heart was breaking. Not that Ianto would notice anything in the state he was in. Jack tried very hard not to consider what he might do left on his own. He couldn't afford to do that.

"You are going to earn forgiveness, Ianto Jones. Don't even consider anything else."

Jack Harkness got up and walked away without waiting for a reply.


	6. Addiction

**Here, as promised, is fluffiness. Because I'm nothing if not bipolar.**** This one isn't my idea, actually… a friend (and torchwood nutjob) asked me to write this for her but I figure she won't mind me putting it up here as well. Anyway, I feel poor Ianto and Jack need a little break. **

**Disclaimer: I own Torchwood, because**** I own all of existence. Did you not get the memo?**

"Sir?"

"Ianto, how many times do I have to tell you… come in. Don't bother knocking. _You_ never have to bother knocking."

"That's not quite fair, Sir. Everyone else has to knock."

"For their own safety, my dear Ianto. If I get interrupted while taking advantage of your… local knowledge… I tend to get tetchy."

"Or try and make them join in."

"Yeah. Oooh, look at you… its pink shirt day, I _love_ pink shirt day…"

"I need to discuss something with you, Sir."

"Sounds good…"

…

…

"Perhaps I should clarify… I wish to discuss something _serious _with you, Jack. With my pants _on._"

"Spoilsport."

"Sorry, Sir."

"Ok, Ianto. What did you want to talk about?"

"Last night."

"What, you mean…"

"The rogue weevil."

"Ah."

"Sir, this isn't funny. Your little… habit…. meant a weevil almost escaped near a very populated area. There could have been a fatality."

"My 'habit'?"

"Yes. You know what I'm talking about. You do it every day. Every time you arrive. Every time you leave. Every time someone new walks into the room."

"Oh, lighten up. I'm not that bad."

"Sir, you did it twenty three times yesterday. And we only left the Hub once. You're addicted."

"I am not!"

…

…

"Fine, fine… but surely you can't begrudge me a little moment? I mean, we were on a _hill_ for godssake…"

"Sir, we can't keep stopping every time you get the urge to strike a pose against the sunset! Or in a doorway! Or on the roof of a bloody _train_!"

"But it's just the way I am, Yan! C'mon… you like it. Admit it."

"It is hampering the efficiency of your operations and the ability of our personnel to function as a cohesive unit, Sir."

…

…

"I bet you a week's pay you made up that sentence in advance."

"Sir?"

"Nevermind."

"Jack, they are admittedly very dashing silhouettes. But you need to consider the circumstances. You need to be more aware of when it is appropriate."

"The last time I checked, I was the Captain and you were the teaboy."

"Well, I wouldn't want to overstep my place. Sir."

"Wha- No, no… Shit, I didn't mean it like that."

"I know."

"Sorry."

"No need to apologise. Jack, all I'm saying is why don't you keep them for us? Private use. You think that would be… nice?"

…

…

"If you want to keep your pants on so badly don't do that… that husky _thing_ you just did with your voice… don't do that again."

"All I'm asking is you save your… poses… for _me_."

"You… you're doing that deliberately, aren't you? I've created a monster."

"Me, Sir? Oh no, I was always like this."

"Really?"

"Absolutely. I think there were only three people at Torchwood One that I _didn't_ fuck to get my way… although by then I couldn't be bothered counting…maybe two, I can't remember."

…

…

"Are you joking?"

…

…

"Yan!?"

…

…

"Yes, of course I'm joking. Idiot. You turned up and you corrupted me, Jack."

"Huh. You betcha I did! You know, I should never have hired you, Ianto Jones. You're too good at keeping a straight face."

"You should see me play poker."

"Think so? Hey, did I ever tell you about that time in the Vrebetian Nebula when…"

"Yes. Twice. And I didn't mean that kind of poker."

"You're even dressed for it…"

"What?"

"For the first part, anyway. For later all we need is a bit of silver paint, some jellybeans and a rop-"

"_No, _Jack."

…

…

"Jack, stop sulking. Do you know how hard it is to get silver paint out of a suit like this?"

"I don't like that suit on you anyway. It doesn't fit right."

"My suit fits perfectly."

"What about… just _here…_"

"Mmmf!"

…

…

"Jack?"

"Yes, Yan?"

"_Please_ close the door first…"

"Now why would I do that?"

"So they can knock."


	7. He Looks Good In A Suit :Pt 1:

**

* * *

**

A message for TheyDidn'tHaveMyName, Billie, Watcha, Screeching Dragon**, Felicia Angel, bbmcowgirl, Rai Guyver, Helen Pattskyn, deeta, Mc Parrot, heartfallen, x-Athena-x, hotflower901, pinkfairy727, doctor-who-fangirl (fellow aussie, boo yah!), and mysterypoet66… reviews are the shiz and I just wanna let you guys know how much I freaking LOVE you all! **

**This one is my rather demented attempt to pin down what Ianto's job consists of. It's really long, so I might put it in two parts… but it was written as one long piece so it continues straight on. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Torchwood, but I do own naked hide and seek. And I always cheat.**

**.**

"_Where is my coffee? I have no coffee. Why is coffee gone?"_

"_Ianto's not here today, Owen. Jack has taken him to that conference up in London. You remember? They'll be back this evening."_

"_But… why is coffee gone?"_

_Gwen sighed. She should have predicted this… she should have grabbed Starbucks on the way here. Still, Owen was such a child sometimes._

"_Blasted bloody teaboy, blasted coffee, stupid feral coffee machine…"_

_Ah. So he had tried to make some himself. That would explain the steam burns on his hands. In the corner Gwen caught a glimpse of Tosh staring at her screen like a zombie. It seemed Owen wasn't the only one suffering from caffeine withdrawal._

"_You know, it isn't exactly in Ianto's job description to fetch us all coffee. You take him for granted."_

* * *

Ianto hadn't expected a warm welcome, and he wasn't disappointed. After all, he was Torchwood One, and what little he knew about Torchwood Cardiff told him that this was not the best recommendation. The two women, Toshiko Sato and Suzie Costello, were polite but distant, clearly wondering why he was there. Owen Harper, the skinny doctor with the perpetual scowl, swaggered out of his chair - an impressive feat, when you consider the physiology of it – and looked him up and down with a shameless smirk.

"Hey, Jack… never mentioned that the creepy stalker of yours was a _child_. Are we hiring direct from school now?"

Even Jack didn't seem to have any idea what to do with him. He gave a brief introduction, something along the lines of 'This is Ianto Jones, born August 18th 1983, a drifter through his teens till he joined Torchwood One in London as a junior researcher. He's offered to be our butler, and he looks so nice in a suit I just had to say yes', and then left without a word of instruction.

"Great. Exactly what a crack team of alien hunters needs, Jack. A teaboy. Bloody hell."

"Owen!"

"Lay off, Tosh."

Ianto left them arguing and went to find the coffee machine. It was an old habit – when in doubt, make coffee. People _liked_ you if you brought them coffee. Besides, if he could at least appear useful, it would be the first step to becoming indispensable – he needed for Jack to not regret a job offer that had, in reality, been based on adrenalin, sexual tension and a nice suit.

He quickly found the makeshift kitchen, and right in the centre stood an enormous coffee machine, as strangely alien in its shape as every other piece of equipment in this place. It almost throbbed; all twisted pipes and oddly shaped nozzles, screaming the promise of dark, rich caffeine infused darkness. It was _ominous_. But it was also a coffee machine, and if Ianto knew about anything he knew about coffee.

Fifteen minutes later he emerged triumphant.

"Coffee, anyone?"

"Yeah, that would be- hang on! What!? Where the hell did you get that?"

"The… the coffee machine… it was on, so I…"

Tosh let out a little gasp. Suzie glanced up, coldly amused. Owen was on his feet now, approaching Ianto with an expression of horror.

"You made coffee? With the _coffee machine_?"

Ianto gave them his best blank look.

"Yes. Is that wrong?"

"No one has ever managed to make that machine work - "

"It's alien, and for a while we thought it was sentient -"

"There were instructions written in blood on the back… we never translated them -"

"Last time I tried I swear it bit me -"

"What's going on here?"

Jack had reappeared, and seeing Ianto holding coffee, grinned. Ianto risked a small smile back, and Jack did exactly what he had done not three days ago, when a stranger had turned up on his doorstep holding out coffee and begging for a chance. He took a cup, and took a gulp. Then he sighed with blatant pleasure.

"Just as good the second time round."

Owen made a strangled noise. Tosh looked uncertain, then took a cup and tried it. Her face lit up.

"Ianto… this is excellent! How did you do it?"

Uh…I know coffee. I worked the coffee shops from Cardiff to London when I was… drifting… as you put it, Sir." Ianto paused, feeling the explanation was somewhat inadequate. "It's sort of my thing."

Jack gave him a wink that Ianto was _sure_ not only violated the Sexual Conduct in the Workplace Regulation booklet, but ripped it apart, scrunched it up, jumped up and down on the pieces and burnt what was left.

"Yeah. I noticed. Welcome aboard, Mr Jones."

* * *

"_Of course it's his job to get me coffee… he's the bloody teaboy, isn't he?"_

"_That's complete bullshit, Owen."_

"_Really? Well, what is his job then? And why does he get taken up to a fancy London security conference?"_

_Gwen opened her mouth to reply, then found herself floundering. All she could think of was the way Jack had introduced him -_ _This is Ianto Jones. Ianto cleans up after us and gets us everywhere on time… and he looks good in a suit__ - an insultingly dismissive description at best, not to mention inaccurate. Mercifully, Tosh came to the rescue._

"_We all know he's the best person to take to that conference – he's the only one who connects this place to the outside world. He's general support, Owen. The archivist, the manager, the administrator…"_

* * *

Ianto gravitated to the archives almost immediately. It was in his nature, the same way it was in his nature to serve steaming hot coffee on every desk before the others arrived, to pick up Owen's pizza boxes, and buy Tosh lunch when she forgot to eat. The same way it was in his nature to tidy up the tourist shop, even if it was just a front, and occasionally sit at the desk to guide their few visitors through.

They were, by far, the worst archives he had ever seen. Owen flat out refused to do paperwork. Tosh didn't really see the point in it if it couldn't be double encrypted and ghosted onto a separate hard drive. Suzie lived in her own world, and Jack… well, Jack just filed everything under "A" for alien. Still, Ianto never backed down from a challenge. Besides, Jack seemed to approve his choice of work, though he suspected that might have more to do with the fact the he was bending over a lot. In neatly fitted suit trousers.

Within a month he knew the archives inside out. He could find anything in minutes, and could tell you not only what shelf the item was on but which heavy piece of alien armour on the shelf above was likely to fall on your head if you weren't careful. He knew most files backwards, and had memorised the personnel reports dating back twenty years. He knew this was bordering on obsessive – Owen made sure he never forgot, giving him funny looks and muttering "unnatural" under his breath – but he also knew that it came from a need to control something in a life that had, so far, been largely dictated by unpredictable external forces.

The politics of Torchwood One, the things that had happened to him as a teen on the streets of London and Cardiff, Canary Wharf, Lisa… and now Jack, an overwhelming personality who took Ianto's life by storm. The archives were his refuge, the only way he could cope. Not that he would ever try to explain the reason behind his excessive knowledge. He'd just say what he always said.

"Don't you remember? I know everything."

* * *

"_Yeah… well what does that mean any way?" _

_No one took the bait, both girls finding concentration increasingly difficult without their drug of choice. Gwen considered a foray into the kitchen, but Owen's burns looked really nasty._

"_I'll tell you: it's a dressed up way of saying he cleans up after us and does our paperwork. Big deal."_

_Gwen frowned slightly. The banter between Owen and Ianto often got quite… well, interesting… but she was sure he genuinely liked the young Welshman. _

"_Do you really believe that?"_

_She said it quietly, looking into his eyes as she did. He had the grace to look embarrassed, and turned away. When he replied he spoke equally softly._

"_Ah… 'course I don't. I've worked with him longer than you have, girlie. I've cleared away bodies with him. I've watched him be the undertaker for this place. That kid… he's a soldier. "_

* * *

Of everything he was forced to endure in this job, Owen hated this the most. The bodies. They were both only in their teens – the idiots had been completely hammered, but they hadn't deserved to run into a three weevils at midnight. Now they were dead, and there was nothing he could damn well do about it. This time, though, his anger found itself directed straight at the new teaboy.

"The injuries are in line with a car accident. Their car is just over the hill. It will take a minute, but if we -"

"What are you suggesting?"

Ianto stopped, surprised, but Owen was just getting started.

"You gonna tidy this all away, is that it? Two children are fucking dead and you want to make it go away? Huh… why am I surprised? You're Torchwood One. Don't think I don't know how you lot work. Witnesses, victims, anyone who steps out of line – all end up retconned or a body dumped in a fucking lake! What is it exactly that they do to make you accept that? What do they do to you, up in London?"

The bloody teaboy never made any attempt to defend himself. In the face of this stoic acceptance Owen's tirade faltered and died. Only then did the kid break eye contact, staring past Owen with a strange look in his eyes.

"They make you into a soldier. Whether or not that is what you want… they don't care."

The words were murmured softly, clearly not intended for Owens ears. A moment later and Ianto was staring back at him, the strange expression gone. Owen wasn't even sure that the kid realised he had spoken out loud.

"What do you normally do? Leave them? Do you really think it is kinder to leave them like this? To put the family through months of investigation that will lead to nothing? To have them wondering, always, exactly how and why their children died? It's a lie, I know, but surely it's better -"

"Fuck you! Don't you _dare _preach to me. Don't you dare pretend you give a shit. All you want is tidy paperwork, a story that is neat enough to put on file and feed to the police. You make me sick."

He walked away then, too angry to care anymore, leaving Ianto standing motionless beside the two bodies. The worst part of it all was, he wasn't sure he was right this time. And he was always right.

The next morning, Owen arrived earlier than usual. Ianto was the only one there, as he expected, sitting alone in the empty Hub, his eyes fixed on the news report on his computer screen. The voice of some blonde reporter filled the air.

"In other news, two fatalities occurred last night on the highway, leading to a renewed push for drink-driving awareness. Leslie Corr, 16, and Joseph Lloyd, 18, died at approximately midnight last night… "

He'd done it. Alone, too… it would have taken all night. Owen took a deep breath and walked over, trying not to imagine what the cleanup had involved. He hadn't been able to forget Ianto's words, or deny that the same thoughts crossed his mind, only he could never bring himself to carry it through. Not that he was ashamed of that – he'd rather be a coward than a soldier; a military pawn in a ruthless game. He didn't think Ianto had had that choice. As he reached the desk the kid spun round in his chair, looking up at Owen. He looked for all the world like he expected to be hit, but he didn't make a move, just waited. The planned words died in Owen's throat. He couldn't bring himself to apologise. It wasn't his way. Still, he had to say something. Clearing his throat, he tried to keep his voice light-hearted.

"Next time… next time run it past me first. Understand? That way I can make sure you do it right."

* * *

"_What are you two whispering about?"_

_Tosh's bright smile almost hid the flicker of jealousy. Owen flinched away from Gwen, and in an instant the façade was back. _

"_Gwen was berating my lack of appreciation for the teaboy's talents. Which is completely unfair. I have a lot of respect for that coffee."_

_._


	8. He Looks Good In A Suit :Pt 2:

**He****re's part 2. This is a lot longer then I thought it would be… I'm glad you guys like it, though. I just basically wanted to rant about how awesome Ianto is. sigh**

**Unrelated note: my computer has decided to be absolutely retarded and not let the reply thingamajiggy work so if you sent me a PM and didn't get a reply, that's why. I'm sorry! I'll try to fix it … or find some other way to contact you…**

**Disclaimer: For me, writing is like watermelons. Watermelons cannot die. They are just there. **

_._

"_Gwen was berating my lack of appreciation for the teaboy's talents. Which is completely unfair. I have a lot of respect for that coffee."_

"_Not to mention the dry cleaning."_

"_And feeding the pterodactyl."_

…

…

"_Is it weird that I miss him already?"_

"_No, Tosh."_

"_Yes it is!"_

"_Shuttup, Owen."_

"_Yeah, well… it's just nice to have someone around who understands me." _

* * *

The first time Tosh caught Ianto completing a piece of work she had left running she was surprised, but didn't think much of it. The second time he did it, this time running several of her tasks without missing a beat, she started to get suspicious.

"That was pretty neat work there. For a junior researcher."

Ianto started, and then gave her a wide eyed, worried smile. He really was very nervous.

"Sorry. I thought you'd left… I was just finishing up. It wasn't that complicated – up in London they're so paranoid you need a couple of dozen passwords just to get to your payslip. You learn to adapt. I've probably used the programs before anyway. Research in Torchwood…well, you know."

She did know... but since the programs were her own handmade ones it was unlikely he'd ever seen anything resembling them before, and curiosity flourished. She didn't have access to his file, true, but she was reasonably certain there was nothing stopping her getting to his recruitment papers. She had salvaged the records of Torchwood One; she had things in her hard drive Jack didn't know about, things no one was supposed to know about. Personnel records wouldn't be a problem.

As soon as he left she practically jumped at her computer. It only took a few minutes to extract the file, though the lack of cross-referenced indexing meant she had to manually scroll through the entire list of Jones' – quite a few, unsurprisingly. Finally she arrived at 'Ianto', and opened it. A quick look through negated her suspicion. He really had just been a researcher – a receptionist, really. She scrolled down further. No indication of extra projects, special assignments…the only thing out of place was the little blue and white icon at the bottom…

Tosh felt her blood run cold. She knew that little icon. She'd seen it before, many times. Nearly every military and government organisation had it, or a variation of it. It was a warning, denoting an individual who had a possibly psychologically damaging past; occasionally domestic violence, most commonly sexual abuse. She was so horrified she never noticed the door to the Hub sliding open.

"Tosh, I forgot to ask you -"

Somehow Tosh knew it was too late, and she didn't even try to exit out. Ianto froze, eyes fixed on the screen. And the cursor blinking just on top of that damned blue and white icon. She could imagine what he was thinking – now she knew what to look for there was nothing he could do to stop her getting the details. After what seemed an eternity he spoke, in a small, almost lost voice.

"It's not in my file. I took it out. Please… please don't tell Jack."

Tosh nodded, stumbling over her own tongue to apologise. She, of all people, should have known not to do this.

"I'm so sorry, Ianto. So sorry. I won't tell anyone, I promise. You have a right to your privacy. Especially… especially about that."

"You'll find it in most of those files. Up in London they like the broken ones. The ones who… won't be missed."

Tosh thought about heavy doors, cold dark rooms and orange jumpsuits, sirens and then, out of nowhere, Jack.

"They do something similar here."

Ianto shared a look with her, conveying an understanding, a mutual need for privacy. For a while both were silent.

"Would you like to grab something to eat, Ianto? Before you go home?"

"Yes. I…Thank you, Tosh."

They ended up having fish and chips, that being the only option at two in the morning. They ate in companionable silence, the first of many shared late night meals. She never asked him about what she'd seen. He never asked her about what she'd said. They didn't need to. They both understood the importance of discretion.

* * *

_Gwen gave Tosh a curious look. The quiet queen of the computers blushed, and quickly changed the tone. _

"_I mean… who understands what I'm talking about. You all call it geeky gibberish… just because you're ignorant."_

"_Hey!"_

"_Face it, Tosh. No one understands what you talk about. Ever."_

"_Ianto does. He knew how to depressurize and refragment the copro-seismic dynogenerator, even after the third decryption firewall was down, and -"_

"_Will you two just SHUT UP? I do not want to hear about how wonderful Ianto is. I am not part of his little fan club. And I still don't have any coffee, which is making me twitchy."_

…

…

"_He takes care of all the phone calls, too."_

"_ARRRGHH! SHUT UP!"_

"_Phone calls?"_

"_Yeah, you know, the official stuff. The army, UNIT… all that stuff."_

"_I thought that was Jack's job."_

_Gwen sniggered._

"_It used to be…"_

* * *

There was no discussion, no particular moment when the decision was made. After Jack left, Gwen slowly started to take his place, the change happening so naturally that even she didn't notice until it was too late. She found the situation almost ridiculous. After all, she was the newest recruit, the one who knew least about Torchwood.

She needn't have worried, though – despite their seniority on paper, Tosh and Owen had no interest in playing Captain. They far preferred to dominate in their specific fields. As for Ianto… to her eternal shame she never really considered him, so perfectly did he fit the role of silently efficient aide. It was exactly one week after Jack left that Gwen realised she couldn't do it without Ianto…and all because of a phone call.

She was searching through Jack's office when the phone rang. This was rare enough in itself. They all avoided Jack's office. Nobody touched anything. But sometimes they needed something – a piece of paper, an artefact – that lay in there, untouched since Jack left. Today it was a small black box that had fallen through the rifts months ago that may or may not be the missing piece in Tosh's latest project, and Tosh was certain Jack had had it last. She hesitated, then took the call.

"Hello?"

"You're not… where is Captain Harkness? Hurry up, woman. This is UNIT. I am General Bridges, the Commander of Military Intelligence and I will not be kept waiting!"

"Uh…I…hang on –"

Shit! Who was he? What the hell was UNIT? Ianto must have seen the look on her face through the glass of the door, because within seconds he was standing beside her, a raised eyebrow indicating a silent question and concern in his eyes. Gwen held the phone slightly away from her, staring at it as if it were about to explode, and mouthed the words 'General of UNIT', then for good measure added 'What the fuck?'. She fought down panic – nymphomaniac gas-creatures and weevils were one thing, but how was she going to talk to a General?

Inexplicably, Ianto seemed to relax at this. Gwen glared at him. Stupid unshakeable teaboy. _He_ never had to deal with this stuff. A tiny twitch of the lips, a smile quickly hidden…then Ianto had taken the phone from her and was lifting it to his mouth. When he spoke, his tone was perfectly modulated without a hint of nervousness, just the right balance between self-assured and submissive.

"Ianto Jones, General Support for Torchwood Cardiff. How may I be of assistance, Sir? No, I'm afraid Captain Jack is unavailable. If you require anything I will do my best… no, I'm afraid that is classified. Yes, I know who you are… I'm sure you can. But that does not change the fact – ah. How many people? I understand. I'll see what I can do…"

Gwen left him at it. The next day, she went into Jack's office and unplugged the phone, wordlessly taking it and placing it on Ianto's desk. The young Welshman didn't speak, but nodded with an almost imperceptible smile. On impulse, Gwen hugged him fiercely before blushing and fleeing back to work. Tosh watched the silent exchange with a smile, Owen with curiosity.

When Jack returned, desks and phones were hurriedly reshuffled, everything put back the way it had been. He charmed his way back into their lives without a hitch. Until the phone rang. As soon as she heard the tone Gwen started grinning. There was a short muffled conversation, and then Jack emerged with an expression of utter bemusement.

"Ianto?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"Why did the Prime Minister just scream at me that she refuses to talk to anyone but you?"

* * *

"… _but while he was gone Ianto took over so I wouldn't have to do it. Now they only want Ianto on the line. A__fter all, can you imagine the Prime Minister trying to deal with Jack? He's on first name terms with most of them. Besides… he's the only one who could explain away the temporary loan of a fighter jet, bowling alley, two trucks of Cadbury's and several footmen to the Queen."_

_For a moment all three of them bathed in the memory of Jack's ill-fated attempt at a group bonding session. Predictably, Owen broke the silence._

"_Well that's just bloody typical, isn't it? I can barely get entry into clubs and the bloody teaboy has the bloody Prime Minister and the goddamned palace on speed dial."_

"_Oh, give it a rest with the 'teaboy'. We've just spent the last hour discussing how inaccurate that description is…"_

_Tosh nodded her agreement. __Owen opened his mouth as if to reply, but then leaned back in his chair with a smug expression._

"_I can think of one more thing Ianto does around here. Something he deserves a hell of a pay rise for."_

"_What?"_

_Tosh looked innocently curious, but Gwen had a sneaking suspicion she knew what he was going to say._

* * *

Ianto Jones had always understood his terms of employment – it hadn't been the weevil, or the pterodactyl that had got him the job. It had been the almost-kiss, the moment where their bodies pressed together, faces only a fraction of a centimetre apart, lips just missing each other. He knew that, and if fucking the boss was what it took, then so be it. But the moment never came… Jack never demanded what Ianto was, for Lisa, willing to give.

The first time he slept with Jack it was about giving him comfort. He had seen the pain, the loneliness in Jack's face as he replaced Suzie's body with the countless others he must have had to say goodbye to. He could not feel anger towards someone who sacrificed so much. After all that Jack had given him, all the forgiveness and trust, Ianto had just wanted to give something back. So he offered comfort the only way Jack really understood… he propositioned him with a stopwatch.

Somewhere along the line gratitude became love. He wasn't quite sure when – the physical attraction had always been there, on both sides – but he suddenly needed Jack in a way he couldn't explain or understand. He was sure that they had was more than just sex, but he never, ever expected Jack to love him back. It was ridiculous to even consider it. It was selfish to ask Jack to invest emotionally in someone who would only live for what, to him, was the blink of an eye. It was enough to love him, to be there for him when the loneliness became too much to handle alone. He was content with what Jack was able to give, the way that he could make Ianto feel, if only for a moment, worth something. He understood it couldn't last.

And yet, it did last. It survived Jack's departure, and it survived his return. When Jack came back he never said where he had been, but something had changed. Jack stayed the night now, and tried so hard to do things properly, the "21st century way". Almost like love. Ianto had no idea why, and one morning as they lay together in his bed, Jack whispering affectionate nothings in his ear, the need to know overwhelmed him.

"What happened, Jack? What changed? Why… why waste your time on me?"

There was no misunderstanding the question. Jack froze, and then turned away. Were those… tears? Jack so hated anyone seeing him vulnerable. Ianto suddenly wished he hadn't spoken. He wanted to go back to the moment before, when Jack had been happy. Why had he gone and spoiled it?

"I'm sorry. It's none of my business."

Jack stiffened, then pulled Ianto close, still not looking at him.

"No, I want to tell you. It's just… difficult. So many things - you died, Yan. I lost you. I only realised how much you mean to me when I lost you." Jack hesitated, and finally their eyes met. "I'm the one who should be sorry. You aren't a waste of time, Yan. You're anything but. I'm sorry I ever let you think that."

"Jack…you never have to say sorry to me. No matter what."

The first time he slept with Jack it was about giving him comfort. Sometimes, it still was. Of course, it was also about lust, and fun, and the creative use of stopwatches and jellybeans and Gwen's old handcuffs. Occasionally it was to convince Jack that it really _was _worth his while to be polite to the Minister of Defence for just one day. Usually, though, it was about the need to belong to someone, completely and utterly. If that wasn't love, Ianto decided, it was close enough.

* * *

"_Well, Owen? What is it?"_

"_Can't guess, Tosh?"_

"_Owen, if this is what I think it is…"_

"_Maybe it is, Gwen. Personally I think it's obvious. He shags the boss on a pretty regular basis…no wonder Jack took him up there…I'd bet you anything he's bent over a conference desk right about now-"_

"_OWEN!"_

_Two mugs smashed against the wall in exactly the place Owen's head had been a few moments previously. Laughing maniacally, he ran for it, the two girls hot in pursuit. He was going to pay for that… but it had been worth it. _

_Now all he had to do was remember to delete the CCTV footage of that little comment, or there would be no coffee for a month. _

_And that was a fate truly worse than death. _

**.**


	9. Nightmares

**Whats this? The events of "Adam" coming back in dreams? How startlingly original! -cough-**

**Ah well, I'm sure you'll forgive me. You know how it is – idea comes, nestles in your brain, sets up camp and refuses to leave until you start typing. Also, be prepared for nonsensical flow-of-consciousness type dreams. If it doesn't make sense, don't blame me. I'm just the writer.**

**Disclaimer: I am more than the sum of my experiences! I am not conventional and neither am I extraordinary! I am… actually, it's irrelevant what I am. I still don't own Torchwood.**

**BTW: This was only supposed to be two or three chapters... I got hooked on lovely reviews... and so suggestions are insanely welcome. Just tell me about a certain bit in an episode you think should be expanded on... **

**.**

_It is a man. A man he has never seen before. Sandy hair, an unremarkable face. A man that scares Jack Harkness like nothing has scared him for over two hundred years. This man is tied in somehow, tied in with memories and pain and sand and blood and children running. Jack wants to run away, but he can't move. He is crushed in the dark and the heat and weight on his body, holding him fast. The man looks right through him. Momentary relief, then he sees Ianto. Helplessly watches as this man walks over. Helpless and knowing something horrifying is going to happen right before his eyes._

Ianto lay awake as Jack dreamed; the older man's steady heartbeat a comforting rhythm by his ear. Forty eight hours. Two whole days lost. Ianto wasn't sure he wanted to know what could have happened to make them all willing to do that to themselves. Or at the very least, to make Jack willing to do that to them. It had been Jack who had deleted the CCTV files – Tosh was certain of it, and there was no questioning Tosh in these matters. So Jack had made that choice, which meant it was a choice Ianto would willingly abide by. That didn't mean he could shake away the feeling of unease. The events with Owen and the flowers, other little clues left around, little things out of place… an extra desk set up and a name. Adam. This person had come, everyone had behaved differently, and now the person was gone. As these thoughts ran through his mind, Ianto was sure of only one thing – he would not do anything to make Jack remember something so painful he had retconned the memory away.

_The man walks closer, saying something but Jack can't hear… Ianto is replying, and then he has his hands on the young Welshman's temples, smiling and whispering in his ear as Ianto arches his back and cries out, pulling away. Somehow a realisation, a sudden knowledge…this is an attack not on the body but the consciousness. This person is attacking Ianto. Worse than that, this is violation… this is rape of the mind. Horror in Ianto's eyes and screams of pain that go deeper than the physical. His Ianto. Smirking and whispering and hurting his Ianto. No one touches his Ianto. Jack begins to fight the choking weight, furiously trying to do something, anything. He has to stop this._

Jack always struggled. He thrashed madly, twisting the bedding, tossing and turning throughout the night. Ianto never tried to hold him still… he had learned that lesson the hard way, with bruises along his chest and arms that he only just managed to hide away from Jack the next morning. Instead, he simply did his best to stay close, knowing that physical contact was the only thing that helped. He dreaded to imagine what Jack's nights had been like before, alone in that tiny bunk. He hated seeing Jack in pain, and his own inability to do anything about it infuriated him. So he would lie awake and wait through the night, a silent guardian.

Tonight, Ianto was not surprised as Jack began to move violently. He was expecting it. Whatever had happened during those two days, whatever had made them willing to destroy their own memories, he had known it would come up like this. Tonight, he didn't care about the bruises. Tonight he tried to hold Jack tight and safe.

_He __has to protect Ianto. Ianto is counting on him. Jack can see him… at a desk, in a chair… looking up, utterly vulnerable and giving himself to Jack without reservation._

"… _gave me meaning again…You."_

_A single word, spoken with complete trust. Wide eyes that are not begging but instead tentatively offering. Then the scene crumples before his eyes and Ianto's face twists and there is the horror and the pain. He can feel the young man lying in his arms all broken up inside…"I am a monster"… a whispered confession that isn't true, couldn't be true. Someone has done this. They will pay, damn them, they will pay for this… he will find them and hurt them and he will like it. He remembers how. He was good at that, once._

Jack talked loudly when he had nightmares, gasping out names, denials and commands. Ianto listened, and remembered. He didn't need to know what had happened to hear the caress given to a woman's name, to hear the passion as he called out for a soldier long buried. It was overwhelming to think of all the people that had come before him, and all the people who would come after, but it was also comforting. He liked to think that there would be someone there for Jack when he was gone. He knew how it felt to be the one left behind, and he didn't want Jack to feel that emptiness. That was why it scared him a little when Jack told him he loved him and meant it. It was wonderful… but terrible. With Jack, nothing was simple.

There were other things too, of course. Pleas for the darkness to end, just end, pleas and curses directed at someone called the Master. Apologies, fervent and heartbreaking. Ianto heard many things at night, and he took it all and carefully stored it away. He never asked Jack what they meant. He never asked how many times Jack had died, or how many times he had killed. He heard the emotions, and they told him more about the person than the facts ever could.

_It's starting again. Jack wants to run away, but he can't move. The man looks right through him. Momentary relief, then he sees Ianto. It's starting again. Worse, so much worse, knowing now what the man is going to do to Ianto... He won't let this happen. He can hear someone speaking, saying his name…__ get away. He has to get away from this. It's happening again. Please not again._

"I won't let him… I won't…"

"Shh, Jack, shh…"

"You're mine. I won't let him hurt you!"

"It will be alright. No one is going to hurt me. Go back to sleep."

"You're _mine_…"

"I know, Jack. Sleep now. I'm here."

.

Sometimes you can learn a lot about someone from being there for them during their nightmares.

Sometimes you are shown just how much you have already learned.

* * *

_Blackness and rain. A road. A wall. An alleyway, bare and solitary and menacing. A figure, __up against a wall. Ianto reaches out. This is what he has come for. The screaming starts, but he ignores it. It doesn't matter, he is untouchable, and his hands fit around the quivering throat so smoothly. This is how it was meant to be. This is what feels right. It satiates the hunger that rages in his chest, in his mind. He needs this, needs to feel the life slip away, needs to know he has the ultimate control. It feels… beautiful._

Jack didn't go back to sleep that night. He couldn't. The memory of that dream had scorched itself across his brain and he couldn't get rid of it. He focused on Ianto's warm weight next to him. Safe in his arms. It was so difficult, with Ianto. He was out of practice – it had been a long time since he had felt excited just from someone entering the room, and afraid when they weren't there. Even longer since the last time he had felt content to just lie in the dark and listen to the sound of another person breathing. Jack tightened his grip on Ianto slightly, and didn't let go.

That was why, later in the night, he felt the telltale tension, the tear-damp on Ianto's face. He was surprised for a moment. Ianto did not often have troubled dreams. Then again, with Ianto it was so hard to tell. Jack suspected it had been a problem before, and those suspicions had been confirmed as much by Ianto's stubborn silence on the topic as Owen's continual recommendations after physicals that the teaboy needed a rest. But not anymore, not since he had started staying then night. Jack thought about the missing two days, and his own dream, and fought to ignore the fear. Just a dream, that was all. Just a nightmare.

_It hurt__s, he can't think and it hurts. He's against the wall. No air. He's the victim, now, and he can't fight because he is being killed by himself and it is better, far better this way than the other. Anything is better than that… that helplessness, trapped inside watching as his hands tighten. Feeling that joy and pleasure. He had enjoyed it… oh god…he had enjoyed it so much. Tears run freely. He tells himself to be still. Be still, let it happen and not struggle and then it will all be over, it will end and there will be no more horror. Just stay strong for a moment more. I can do it. I'm not afraid, not afraid at all…this is the easy way, this way. I know that. But why does it hurt so much?_

Ianto never struggled. He went very still, curling tightly around Jack's body as if to fend of the outside world. Sometimes a tentative arm would find its way around the other man's waist and cling there. Jack found him so beautiful lying there, helpless and small and young and somehow, for this moment, belonging only to Jack. It was his age that was the biggest problem, Jack decided. When you have lived for centuries it is hard to feel that twenty five is an adult. It is hard not to feel you are taking advantage of the naivety, the vulnerability of youth. And while Ianto was never naïve, there were times when Jack had seen him so vulnerable...

Tonight, though, he moved away. Pulled away, turning to the edge of the bed and hunching into himself, muscles tense. His arms crossed over his chest, his head bowed. When Jack leaned over he actually flinched at the touch. Jack sank back, and grew steadily more worried.

_He is the attacker again, he holds the warm flesh in his fingers…it feels so good, so good as it twitches and struggles, and inside he is screaming because he knows this isn't right, something is wrong about this, so wrong, but he feels in control and it feels good. The face… it is changing…three times, three women he doesn't know. Three pleas and three screams and never any mercy. The body shudders. It changes again, and he knows this face, he knows this woman now, with a gap in her teeth and brown hair and such wide, wide eyes… a man, a man so skinny with a smirk and a world of pain and fear…a woman again, asian and small and frightened and screaming so loud...then it is still. No screams now. No more screams. _

Ianto barely made a sound all night. It was only occasionally that Jack caught a fragment of a phrase, always spoken in Welsh, always with a desperate rawness to it that frightened him. Hearing that language – something Jack had never bothered to learn, not in over a century of life in Cardiff – was a reminder that this man was different from the others. This one was a mystery, an enigma hiding behind an immaculate suit and a carefully phrased "Sir". This one had gotten under his skin and there was nothing he could do about it.

Jack had only seen Ianto have a nightmare once before. It was after the…incident… with Lisa. He had fallen asleep at the Hub, working late down in the archives to avoid the others. Jack, who had not yet forgiven him, had found him and carried him upstairs, laying him on a couch and seating himself opposite to watch with a kind of angry concern and, as the night went on, several bottles of whisky, three shots of bourbon and Owen's stash of sake. Ianto had been almost silent then, too. He had only said one word. But the way he had said it… it had been enough for Jack to empty those bottles in record time.

_Ianto sinks to the ground. Alone in the rain, in the dark with the body. The body…why, why is there a body? Monster. He can't escape the monster. He is the monster and the monster is him and it is there, always there…He bites his lip until it bleeds, trying not to call out, not to make a sound. The hunger isn't gone. It is still there, like fire and ice and noise in his chest, stronger now, stronger than before. If he closes his eyes, shuts out everything then maybe it will stop. Maybe Jack will come. Come with his gun and make it stop. Please, Jack. Please come and make it stop. Make me stop. You did it before, almost, I was on my knees with your gun against my head…cold metal on my forehead and I wasn't scared, I'm not scared. Do it, do it now…only you, I trust you. I trust you to stop me. Please._

"Ianto? Wake up! Dammit, Ianto, you're bleeding!"

Ianto's eyes slammed open.

"What?"

"Ianto… your lip.."

"Oh…right. Hang on. Where did you put the tissues, Jack?"

"I dunno…Ianto, are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

Ianto seemed so relaxed, casually dabbing his lip as if it was every day that he woke up bleeding. As if he was used to it.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course. Hey, Jack…can I ask you something?"

"Yes. Fire away."

"Could you promise me that, if it came to it, you would be able kill me?"

For a moment Jack just stared, unable to conceive a reply, unable to process what he had heard. The way it had been delivered – not quite offhand, just a weary, blunt question – was too much for Jack to cope with. These moments were supposed to come with warning, with long pauses and significant glances. Not like this.

"What the hell, Ianto?! What kind of promise…What were you dreaming about?"

A strange look, a hidden flicker deep in stormy grey eyes. Then nothing, his countenance as clear and untroubled as a child's. What went on behind those eyes? Jack really didn't know. He could tell he wasn't going to get an answer – at least not the kind he wanted. The bloody stubborn teaboy…damn him and damn all the bloody stubborn welsh…

"It isn't important."

"Yan, tell me."

"It was just a scary dream. Jack…"

"Yes?"

"Did I get blood on your shirt? Give it here; I can wash it out now before it stains."

.

Sometimes, you can learn a lot about someone from being there for them during their nightmares.

Sometimes you are shown just how much more you have to learn.


	10. The Coat

**I'm back. Haha, though you'd gotten rid of me, didn't you? Nah, exams have reared their ugly head but I am irrepressible. Hence this rant about… you guessed it, Jack's coat. Well, it is pretty awesome. BTW I'm Australian, so forgive the zero knowledge of Wales and welsh-isms.**

**Disclaimer: Pop pop pop pop. That's the sound bubbles make. I don't own Torchwood. Pop pop pop. (Remind me to eat less sugar, yeah?)**

.

"_Thanks."  
_

"_No, thank you. And you are?"  
_

"_Jones, Ianto Jones."  
_

"_Nice to meet you, Jones, Ianto Jones… Cap'n Jack Harkness."  
_

"_Lucky escape."  
_

"_I had it under control."  
_

"_You think so? It looked pretty vicious. You're, um... You were bleeding."  
_

"_Had worse from shaving."_

"_Looked like a Weevil to me."  
_

"_I've no idea what you're talking about. _

…

…

"_I'll take him from here…Thanks for the assistance."  
_

"_Anytime. By the way, love the coat."_

* * *

He had meant it, too. From the first moment that coat had caught his eye. He loved it immediately. Ianto Jones, the man who created an impenetrable barrier with a perfectly cut suit, the man whose choice of shirt colour sent a dozen subtle messages, the man whose father had been the greatest tailor in Cardiff … he knew the importance of a coat.

He loved the way that it was the kind of coat his Tad would have adored. Seeing the coat brought back memories, memories of a childhood watching his father at work with awe and fascination. Days spent sitting on the counter holding the oversized scissors, running and hiding under the fur coats when a customer came in. Fetching the measuring tape for his Tad. His father had been so proper, so polite, so gentle. A man from another age, really. He had taught the young Ianto everything, and that old fashioned etiquette, those quirks of manner that made it so easy for him to play butler – they all came from his father. These memories weren't painful, though… these were the good ones. These were the ones he liked to remember.

He loved the way the threads had held their colour, a muted midnight blue verging on coal black. The cut, the way the fabric fell, unmistakably military, flamboyant and bold and so very _Jack_. It wasn't a coat you forgot in a hurry. It was a statement, and yet underneath it remained in essence the clothing of a soldier. Ianto had lost count of the times he had seen that coat slashed or shot, covered in blood both alien and human, singed and torn. But it always survived.

It always survived, and every time he would take it as Jack slept and gently spread it out, pinning the ripped fabric together as he readied it for the cleaning process. It had been easy for him to find the original design sheets for this type of coat, but harder had been thread and fabric that was right colour, from the right period. He had not accepted anything but perfection – he really was his father's son in that regard. He had visited old friends of his father, some for the first time since the funeral, talking with them about sewing machine speeds and thread count and the alloy of the replacement buttons, but never anything about that day… the day his Tad hadn't come home. These were men of a certain era, and they believed in the dignity of reserve.

And so, with care and distant memories to help him, he would piece the broken garment back together again, and hang it on the wall, as perfect as it had ever been. Sometimes he wondered what he would do if one day it was damaged beyond repair. He honestly could not imagine Jack in anything else. During a couple of particularly playful "paperwork" sessions in the basement, Ianto had ended up in Jack's suspenders and the older man in Ianto's waistcoat and jacket…it had been funny, but Ianto had pulled it off him. It had looked wrong. Although maybe the fact the two of them hadn't been wearing anything else had had something to do with it. Whatever the reason, they threw the clothes aside… but kept the suspenders. Jack had a thing for bindings, and Ianto didn't mind. In fact, he was always curious as to what he'd end up tied to next.

He loved the way it was so conspicuously out of its time. It was, after all, a RAF greatcoat. Not something you saw everyday, something that evoked idealistic images of a golden era, of a time he knew only from the silver screen. Like Jack, it didn't really belong, and was all the more entrancing for its exoticism. It certainly got them a hell of a lot of looks when they walked down to the Bay or out to eat. Although part of that may have just been Jack. He attracted attention like honey attracts bees. And bears.

What's more, though Cardiff was in general an accepting place, Jack didn't seem to be able to comprehend that this was the 21st century, and 'quaint' little labels still had importance. Ianto was not afraid for himself. He'd dealt with worse before. But sometimes he did wish Jack would be a little more aware of his own… obviousness. Especially in certain parts of town. It would mean a lot less trouble for everyone, and he wouldn't have to spend every second date talking Jack out of shooting some idiotic drunk homophobe in the foot. And then retconning the aforesaid drunken idiot if he failed to put forward a convincing case.

He loved the way that it smelled like Jack. Centuries of wear, every day for so many days, meant the scent of Jack had infiltrated every fibre of that coat. Those damned 51st century pheromones. They messed with his head, they really did. Sometimes he'd moan to Jack about having an unfair advantage, but Jack would just roll over and say incredulously that someone who made coffee like him couldn't talk about unfair advantage. When Jack left his place earlier in the morning - to avoid Owen's snide remarks when they arrived together - Ianto would sometimes go back to bed and just lie there, burying his face in the sheet and breathing in pure Jack.

He loved the way Jack always paused, no matter how urgent or dramatic his exit from the room, to allow Ianto to put the coat on him. It was an act of tenderness and affection, putting the coat on Jack. It was so simple, and Ianto loved that. The fact Jack never acknowledged it didn't matter in the least – he didn't mind if Jack didn't notice, because that wasn't the point. The point was that it was their own little routine, something that a normal couple might do.

So, when a glance at the screen told him those things - Daleks, Jack had called them - were coming, when he looked into Gwen's eyes and silently agreed to die with her so Jack could do what he had to do, Ianto was very careful to remember to get the coat and carefully slip it around Jack's shoulders like they always did. Jack couldn't be allowed to know that this was the last time they would see each other, touch each other. Today, Jack had to be the hero.

All in all, Ianto thought as Jack disappeared, it wasn't such a bad way to say I love you and goodbye.

* * *


	11. Revelations and Filing Systems

**I was feeling silly, so here is a little fluffiness… ****someone said these read like parodies… and they're kinda right… but to me it's as much a part of the Janto world that lives in my head as the angsty stuff. I took a look at the number of reviews I had yesterday and my eyes dropped out. It was actually very inconvenient, and took me ages to find them again, just so I could write this as a thankyou. I offer LOVE to you all, because it is all I can give.**

**Anyway, this is very stupid but Jack has a certain line (in the first episode, I think)… I just couldn't resist.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own them, but if I promise not to break them can I play with them a little? Oh, wait. That came out wrong.**

* * *

"Jack?"

"Yes, Ianto? Hang on… what the hell is that?"

"Your file, Sir."

"My wha– Oh no you don't! Give that here…"

"Sir, don't -"

…

…

"Sorry about that."

"No need to apologise, Sir. But I would appreciate it if you…ah…got off me."

"I'm not going to let you read those, you know…anything those two wrote… and _him_… oh, when that thing ate him it was a relief, I can tell you…"

"Who are you talking…actually, I don't want to know. I've read it anyway. I had to. You asked me to clean them up and send sanitised versions to UNIT, remember?"

…

…

"You read it?"

"Yes. And we need to talk."

"Oh nooo…What they considered inappropriate was so different, Yan… I swear, I had no idea it was illegal. And none of them can deny it wasn't a hell of a night. Or are you talking about the other time? That was an accident. They never said they were related-"

"JACK! Please. I'm not talking about sexual harassment claims, Sir. I don't keep them in your file anymore anyway. They have their own room… and their own filing system. Cross referenced by era, species involved and technique."

"Really?"

"Yes. We've been considering publishing. Owen suggested a few titles; 'Aliens Hunters Cardiff – A History in Chocolate and Handcuffs' was one. Tosh preferred 'Weevils and Corsets'. I wanted something a little slicker, but then we all realised it would take to much effort."

"Oh."

"Indeed, Sir."

"Then… what are we discussing?"

"There are few other anomalies in here."

"Like what?"

"Well, mainly… Sir, why have you have taken maternity leave? Twice?"

"They recorded that!?"

…

…

"Okay, okay. The second time was a hoax."

"And the first?"

"Humans are a very popular surrogate species."

"Jack…"

"I'm serious! C'mon… I was young, I needed the money… actually, they paid me with a four month stint on their ship…but at the time I thought it was worth it. The fifties bored me."

"So… you gave birth?"

"Sort of. It was all very messy, actually. Never doing it again, that's for sure. It might have been easier if I'd picked a species with fewer heads…are you okay?"

"Fine, Sir."

"You look a little queasy."

"I'm fine. Um. I'll just take the leave slips out, shall I?"

"That might be best."

"Yes. Oh, and Sir?"

"Yeah?"

"You are still on top of me. Straddling my hips, to be precise. Did you even look at the booklet I sent you?"

"The Sexual Conduct Workplace thingy one?"

"Yes."

"Oh, I loved that. You should find out if there are more in that series."

…

…

"It isn't a spoof book, Sir."

…

…

"I'm going to go now."

"Ianto, no…stay here with me. I'll read it properly. I promise."

"It's ok, Sir. I don't actually mind, you know. If I did I wouldn't let you do it."

"I know, but..."

"It's ok, Jack. Now I have to finish this and get the afternoon coffee."

"Alright. I'll be waiting."

"Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"Really… a baby?"

"Yes. Well, technically a broodling. But yes. Do you mind?"

"Surprisingly… no."

"You're amazing, Mr Jones. And you look so pretty when you blush."

"And you talk rubbish. I'm going, Jack. _Now._ Off!"

"Ok, I'm up! Hey…"

"Yes, Sir?"

"Really a whole room?"

"A room with twelve cabinets, floor to ceiling shelving and two boxes outside the door."

"Shit…"

"That's what I thought."

"No, I mean…shit I'm _good_!"

* * *

**And I will leave it to you all to imagine the expression on Ianto's face…**

**Just out of curiosity, since I've covered all the Janto clichés – post-Cyberwoman, Jack returns, Ianto childhood angst – which episode do people think doesn't get the attention it deserves? **


	12. Breaking

**So many requests! I better get to work… ah well, any excuse to re-watch Torchwood episodes**** is good enough for me. I definitely think 'Adrift', 'Out of The Rain' and 'Countrycide' deserve another look at… thanks, everyone. I'll begin immediately!**

**This is for ****doctor-who-fangirl****, who wanted post-Exit Wounds. I actually wrote it ages ago, but didn't post because I wasn't sure about it. Its very much a downer (serves me right for listening to placebo while writing) but I tried to give a hopeful-ish ending and I hope you like it.**

**Disclaimer: Hey… BBC? Bring it on. I'm ready for you.**

_._

_._

_There was before, and there was after. The two were very similar. This is because the team at Torchwood were professionals. _

_They had a job to do, a job as guardians to a rift in space and time that didn't stop for such trivial flickers in the infinite turning of the universe. _

_They knew how to pretend to be coping, and pretend so well they sometimes fooled themselves. _

_But they couldn't escape the fact that they were living in a city that held memories like a minefield. They were working in a Hub that had too many chairs, too many desks, too many coffee mugs lying in the sink. Too many empty spaces, and too much silence._

_They were professionals. But every now and again, they broke._

* * *

For Gwen it came as flood of tears, uncontrollable and with no end in sight. It was the smallest things that set her off. A pen. A post-it with familiar handwriting found under a desk. A borrowed shoe. Usually she could hold back, hold on until she could lock herself in a toilet cubicle or make it home to Rhys.

Rhys was her rock. He would hold her without any need for explanation, and she would bury her face in his chest and press hard against him, trying to envelop herself in the essence of him, his calm solid strength. Later they would talk. He didn't always say the right thing, but somehow the way he tried so hard made it all alright. Very occasionally, though, it was not enough. How could he understand fully when there was so much he didn't know?

At these other times there was Jack, who offered an embrace that was just as strong and fiercer, leaving her short of breath but invigorated and defiant. He drove away the helplessness. For the very worst times there was Ianto, who knew just how to make her feel safe, cradling her in his arms and murmuring welsh lullabies, looking at her with those old eyes in that young face. His graceful, limitless grief was beautiful, reminding her that what she felt was not completely wrong.

Still, no matter who held her or how, the tears wouldn't stop once they had begun. They flowed until she had no more to spill, and even then it was only exhaustion that could silence the dry sobs.

* * *

For Jack it came as anger. An indiscriminate, all consuming fury directed at whomever or whatever was closest. A red mist across his eyes… that old cliché was so ridiculously apt for the situation. Suddenly everything became infuriating. He would start yelling, angry at Gwen for running away when he lost control, angry at Ianto for staying and trying to talk him out of it.

He lashed out. He had always communicated through touch, constantly needing physical contact, a tangible expression of emotion. Now he was hurting and confused, so he sent it all straight back out onto whichever small piece of the world he happened to be inhabiting at the time – most often his office, and those damned memory-filled shelves.

It was the injustice that bothered him. This wasn't right, it wasn't fair…he needed to hold something accountable, to punish and destroy. He held the whole universe accountable. Everything could just go to hell. He hated that he had been helpless, he hated that he had been too late, he hated that it was unchangeable, he hated that there was no appeal. He hated that every waking moment offered some reminder of just how wrong the world was now.

He hated the things he did when the red mist came down.

* * *

For Ianto it came as a desire for physical pain, and Jack was usually there to oblige. Ianto knew it was fucked up, but he didn't care. After all, he didn't feel it. Not really. He was so numb.

When he saw a black mood coming - the little signs that told him Jack was going to lose it - Ianto sent Gwen home and went straight to him. Into the office, locking the door, keeping Jack away from the Hub and from the Cardiff streets. There was no sense in letting it be messier than it had to be, or letting the innocent get hurt. Ianto knew how to keep things contained – that was his job.

He would talk, saying things he knew Jack didn't want to hear, but ones that he needed to hear. Sometimes he said that it would all be alright. Sometimes he said he was sorry, it should have been him. Sometimes he said that it was no ones fault; there was nothing they could have done, nothing _Jack_ could have done. He would talk, not hesitating or flinching as heavy shapes flew past his ear and more delicate objects smashed against the wall and decorated the floor with shards of shining alien metal.

Jack didn't mean to do it, Ianto knew that. Sometimes he wondered how the older man never realised Ianto _wanted_ to be hit. When he tasted blood it was good…when he couldn't get back on his feet it was better. Anything to stop thinking about the two empty mugs.

* * *

_Every now and again they broke, but it was never long __before they rebuilt each other. They were professionals, and knew how to pretend. _

_Tearful apologies__ were made and immediate forgiveness granted. Work hours were re-adjusted, allowing Gwen to go home at something resembling a normal time. The broken glass was cleared away and the bloodstains covered. Jack took the last of his things from the hatch and put them in Ianto's bedroom, in a place that had been set aside for them a long time ago. _

_Time passed, and the lapses in control became few and far between. After all, they had a job to do. What's more, they had each other, and a new appreciation of exactly how precious that was. _

_The line between pretence and truth shifted, blurred and then disa__ppeared entirely. They healed, and they healed together._

_But it was never quite the same without Owen and Tosh._

_._

_._


	13. In the end we saved one

**This one is really demented… written late at night, all broken up into pieces, I can't even keep to either past or present tense. Sorry! Oh… and I have just realised how bloody annoying (and slightly homophobic) the English language is… you try to write a poem or story about a man and a woman and it's easy; there is "he" and there is "she", "his" and "hers". But you try to do something like this, and there's "he" and there's "he"… "his" and "his". Arrrggghhh! Confuddling my poor brain.**

**BTW, I don't know if the boy in "Out of the Rain" had a name, but from now he is called Thomas. Because I said so.**

**Disclaimer: cookiessss pleassee? Meep.**

.

* * *

"I saw you. Up there on the screen."

Jack doesn't reply, doesn't confirm or deny the quietly spoken words. Ianto doesn't insist, doesn't say 'it is true, I saw you, I saw you with your gun against your own throat.'

What must happen, he wonders, for you to reach the point where suicide is your performance? A man who stands in front of a laughing crowd and pulls the trigger for accolades? How must it feel to outlive entire generations, entire cultures?

Another reminder of just how much more Jack is than merely mortal, merely human. A wonderful, frightening reminder.

* * *

"What did you say?"

"Nothing. Why?"

"It's just… those words. 'They came out of the rain.' I'm sure I've heard them somewhere before."

"Where, where did you hear them?"

"I… of course! A patient. She said… "

"A patient here?"

"No, at Providence Park. A psychiatric hospital"

A quick look, questioning. Ianto replies.

"I know it."

He's proud of himself. A little too fast, perhaps, but devoid of familiarity. He has had to get better, recently. Jack is too good at reading his face and his eyes. Some recognition, of course, enough not to plant suspicion in Jack's mind. After all, local knowledge is why he's here. And a bloody great psychiatric hospital is hard to miss.

It actually isn't all that hard. That place lost its hold on him long ago. He no longer thinks of the pale green walls and white sheets. He doesn't get that deep ache in the wrists anymore. Shadow pain, they called it. His nerves remembering. But he denies it, refuses to let those memories have any hold. He will not be a victim. He is a soldier. He is Jack's soldier.

"It looks like we have our first witness. Let's go."

Now it's just another building in another park, and he has a job to do.

* * *

"Your eyes are older than your face."

He keeps the smile on, but just barely.

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Yes. It means you don't belong. It means you're from nowhere"

The Doctor's words are echoing back. "You are wrong. You shouldn't exist". A glance to the side and he sees that Ianto is as taken aback as he. Worse, the way he looks at him – a gaze full of sadness, always with that sadness underneath - the young Welshman seems to _understand_.

Disbelief he can deal with. Surprise, horror, fascination, pity, disgust… Jack has seen them all. But sympathy and understanding are whole different creatures. They scare him, because if Ianto understands then that means he knows, knows how needy Jack really is, how weak.

Jack doesn't want Ianto to think he is weak.

* * *

Thomas wakes up and he can't breathe. He starts coughing, big giant coughs with his whole body, like that time he got sick and mummy let him stay home for a whole week and watch television.

Somebody is holding him, a big man. It isn't daddy though. This man is strange, but he's smiling. He has a happy smile, a real smile, not like most grown ups. He smiles with his eyes too. When he talks he sounds like he's laughing inside, and he has an accent.

"Welcome back."

Thomas decides he likes this man, and smiles at back at him. There's another man in the corner, but Thomas isn't sure if he's a grown up or not, because he dresses like one but his face is young, and he looks like he's going to cry. Grown ups don't cry. Thomas wonders why he is sad.

Then the nurses come. He knows they are nurses because they are wearing funny clothes, like mummy's friend Janet who works at the hospital. They put him back in the bed and start moving all the weird tubes and wires that are all around the bed. The smiling man ruffles his hair and gets up to leave, waving goodbye and whispering something to the sad-eyed man before he goes.

After a while the nurses leave too. For a while Thomas thinks he might be alone, then he sees that the young-old man in the suit is still there, sitting in a chair in the corner. He's very quiet. Maybe he's shy?

"Hello. My name is Thomas. What are you doing?"

"My name is Ianto. I'm just staying to look after you for a little while. I… I'll try not to be too annoying."

He's smiling a little bit, not a big smile like the other man, just a very small one, a baby smile that is scared to come out in full. He doesn't have an accent, he's Welsh, and maybe that's why his voice sounds… sounds like something Thomas has heard before…

"_One. I think we saved__ just one… Oh… I hear it, Jack…"_

Thomas tries to remember, but he can't. he can't remember anything. He can't remember how he got to the hospital, or why they stopped driving. It's scary. Why are all these strangers here? Something is wrong, he can tell from the way they are acting.

"Where's my mum? Where's dad? I want them, I want…"

Suddenly he starts crying, and that's bad, because he's not a little kid now and only little kids and girls cry. But he can't help it. He wants mum and dad and Jessie.

The man called Ianto comes over and sits on the bed. Thomas pretends not to be crying, and hides his tears by leaning into the man, burying his face in the pink shirt. It's ok, because the man isn't a stranger, not really, because the voice...

"…_I heard it. Something inside calling out to me…"_

Gentle arms wrap around him, and he doesn't feel so scared. Thomas knows him somehow, and his hug feels safe.

They stay that way until the nurses come back.

* * *

"Ianto?"

"Sir?"

"How do you feel?"

"Uh…I'm not sure now is a good time, Jack. For one thing this is a hospital… they lack certain privacies-"

"I'm serious, Yan. She said they touched you. She said she could sense it. And then on the stairs – I heard you scream when he touched your shoulder, Ianto. Talk to me."

"There's nothing to say. I feel fine, really."

"I'm going to get Owen to check you up. Properly, the whole deal."

"Do whatever you want to, Jack. But maybe you should do some checking on Owen too. He got touched – they tried to take his breath."

"He's dead. Nothing to take."

"Jack!"

"Sorry. That was out of line."

"Jack… are you ok?"

"_I'm_ just fine. But _you.. _you shouldn't be able to walk away unaffected, not from this. What are you really, huh?"

It is… mostly… a joke. Ianto doesn't reply at first, just gives him one of his patented strange little smiles, hardly perceptible and the herald of an indecipherable comment.

"I'm Ianto Jones, Sir."


	14. Tradition

**Chocolate cookies! Always chocolate flavoured cookies. But if I can't get them, chocolate flavoured reviews are just as good.**

**This is my 'I want Tosh and Owen back' little tantrum. I'm gonna miss them. Not that I hate Gwen, but she isn't up to their standard of awesomeness. **

**It's a long one, and ****probably comes under the heading of fluff. Inside can be found much mushiness, lots of platonic love and gooey sentiments, a fair bit of blood and Owen having serious denial problems. **

**Disclaimer: negotiations are pending, and I will keep you updated as to ownership status.**

* * *

_It was quite flexible, as traditions go. _

_It could occur at any time. It could occur in any place. It could involve anything from silver plated cufflinks to an antique violin to a 500g toblerone and pack of spearmint gum. _

_The one constant was the shoebox. It didn't matter what type of shoebox, not really, though the ones that came with running shoes were the most conveniently sized._

_It was a tradition that was utterly incomprehensible to all but the two individuals who participated in it. As such, it was at first the subject of insatiable curiosity… but when no explanation was forthcoming it was conveniently ignored. _

_Like all traditions, this one had a beginning. It began with Tosh, Ianto, and a village full of cannibals._

* * *

The stench was the worst part. It burnt itself into her memory; haunting her even now it was all over. That, and the look on Ianto's face when he opened the fridge. The wide eyed shock of a child, frozen in place. He had shown his strength then, not trying to hide his fear but at the same time controlling it, not allowing himself to panic.

She had promised Jack she would look out for him. This was his first field mission, and he had had to face these people… these monsters. His first time, and he had been handcuffed on his knees in a room filled with hacked up bodies. She had wanted to save him, but he had ended up saving her.

"_Get ready to run"_

_A throaty whisper from Ianto. Tosh tensed and nodded. He still had hope – that was good. They were going to get out of this. Somehow. They were only human, after all. Only people. _

"_What are you going to do, put us on meat hooks?" _

"_Oh no. You see, meat has to be tenderised first."_

_Tosh flinched away as the baseball bat brushed along her skin. The man smirked, and turned to Ianto._

_Ianto didn't turn away. He smiled, and lunged._

It had been a deliberate sacrifice, she realised that now. He couldn't have expected to stay upright, let alone get away after a headbutt like that. And she had run, leaving him on that blood soaked floor. There was no logical reason to feel guilty. She hadn't had any other choice. But it still felt like betrayal, and in the end it had been for nothing. She had been caught, with Gwen and Owen, and dragged back to the hellhole and the stench.

After the dust from Jack's explosive entrance had settled Tosh staggered to her feet to take in the carnage. Their Captain was truly a terrifying force of nature. She moved to help Owen staunch the bleeding. The police arrived, followed by ambulances. Questions were asked and largely true answers given. At Owen's insistence Gwen left with him in one of the ambulances… she had been shot, after all.

That left Jack to drive them back. Ianto sat on the back seat of the SUV, just across from her. He had his head tilted back and his eyes closed as if asleep. He was breathing slowly and raggedly. Clearly the bruises under his shirt were as bad as the ones that decorated his face. At least Gwen had helped him wipe the worst of the blood away.

"_Where is Ianto? What have you done with him?"_

_Tosh was struggling, but as Ianto was pulled into view she froze in horror. Limp, clothes stained with god knows what, a black bag over his head…oh god, not that, not the bag. She'd seen too much of that. Not Ianto…_

_The bag was pulled away and even Owen gasped out loud. He was barely recognisable, blood covering his face and a gag across his mouth, head lolling._

"_I'm going to bleed him, like veal. Takes a long time, but makes it taste so much better…"_

_The grinning man put the cleaver against Ianto's neck and pressed down. _

Jack was brooding. He hadn't said a word since the got in the car. Whatever had gone on between him, Gwen and that monster was bothering him. They were halfway back before he finally spoke.

"Hey kids. You all alright?"

"I'm okay."

"Always knew you were a brave one, sweetheart. What about you? Ianto?"

"I'll live. It was certainly an informative introduction to the joys of fieldwork."

"Haha. Yeah."

They lapsed back into awkward silence. Tosh stifled a frustrated sigh. She was sure Jack had actually forgiven Ianto a long time ago. Now if only he knew how to show it. If only someone could convince Ianto he deserved to be forgiven.

It was only when they got back to the Hub that Tosh realised she was shaking. To her embarassment she wasn't the only one to notice, and she blushed as Jack wrapped his coat around her shoulders and guided her to the couch. Sitting down beside her, he began to rub the small of her back gently and rhythmically. Ianto joined them a little later, to Tosh's disbelief holding a tray with three coffees. Jack didn't take the coffee. Instead he looked Ianto up and down as if seeing him for the first time. Walking over, he grabbed the young man's jaw, turning his face to the side to fully reveal the now livid bruising.

"Shit. They really smashed you up. I'm taking you to hospital."

"No need, Sir. I'm fine."

"You are not. Look, at least let me drive you home."

"Sir, I said I'm fine!"

Ianto made to push Jack away, but his feet seemed to have other ideas and he staggered, falling with a gasp on his hands and knees. Tosh watched in horror as Ianto choked for breath. Realisation struck – the tightness of his breathing earlier, the blood on his lips now…

"Jack, I think he's broken a rib or something…he's got blood in his lungs…"

"No, no, no… call Owen, do it now!"

Tosh ran for the phone, leaving Jack cradling Ianto in his arms, cupping his head in his hands and tilting it back in a desperate attempt to keep the young man's airways clear.

"Hold on. Hold on, Ianto. Please, please stay with me. "

.

The day after the incident Ianto didn't turn up for work, having been thoroughly shouted at by Owen regarding the fact that multiple broken ribs were the type of injury that didn't just go away if ignored.

That afternoon Tosh went out and bought three bags of the most expensive and exotic coffee she could find. Taking them home she wrapped them carefully, sealing each one inside coloured paper. When she had finished she had a little of the red left, and absent-mindedly folded it into a flower. A few moments on her laptop and his address was written on the back of her hand as she raced out the door.

A quarter of an hour later, sitting in her car outside Ianto's apartment, Tosh suddenly lost all resolve. What could she say? Thank you for saving my life, here's some coffee? Christ. This was stupid. And yet… and yet she needed to do _something_. Ianto had suffered so much recently. He was mourning Lisa, and to make it worse he was being treated as a traitor by both Jack and Owen, with even Gwen acting as if he had disappointed her. He was a child, really. He shouldn't have to go through all that. And then yesterday she had seen him willing to die to protect her.

Scrabbling through the glove box Tosh eventually found a pen and paper. She stared at it for a while, unsure how to put her feelings into words. There was no way of phrasing it that didn't sound like a cliché… then again, where was the harm in that? As long as he knew she meant it.

_Dear Ianto,_

_As childish as this sounds, I wanted to thank you_

_for being my knight in shining armour up at the Beacons._

_You saved my life that day and you almost lost your own. _

_Tosh_

With a small satisfied nod she put the pen down and started to get out of the car, then stopped. It was raining outside, and heavily too. Damn. She couldn't just leave it outside his door in weather like this.

Inspiration struck – wriggling around she pulled a slightly torn shoebox from the back seat. It was a small blue cardboard one, a remnant of the last time she had bought new boots. Footwear surviving longer than a month or two at Torchwood was unheard of. Putting the carefully wrapped gift complete with the paper flower and note inside, she dashed out into the rain and left it on Ianto's doorstep. Then she went home.

When Ianto came back he wore a red folded paper flower tucked in his suit pocket, and gave her the morning coffee with a sweet, genuine smile.

* * *

After Mary was killed, Ianto watched Tosh with a resigned helplessness. He didn't have anything else left. Feeling anything but the pain was difficult, but he forced himself to show sympathy, to offer her a shoulder to cry on. He couldn't feel anger at her for looking into his mind. After all, what was her betrayal compared to his?

He didn't speak, because he didn't know what to say. He knew better than anyone that there weren't any words that could stop the emptiness eating you from the inside out. Ianto simply watched as she retreated inside herself, recognising all to well the guilt in her eyes.

He stumbled across the shoebox by accident one night, staggering home and collapsing before he reached his bed. The box, no longer holding the note and gift Tosh had put inside it a few weeks ago, sat where he had placed it on a chair next to the TV. It seemed to glare at him as he lay there, blind drunk and aching, until the inevitable darkness came and he lost consciousness. When self-punishment was your goal, alcohol and dark alleys were your best friend.

A while later and he dragged himself to his feet, heading to the kitchen for some coffee, taking the box and putting in the centre of the dining table. Then he sat and looked at. And looked at it some more. The coffee machine whistled – he ignored the sound. Then he got up, went back into his bedroom and pulled a small black case from his wardrobe before returning to his seat at the kitchen table.

He couldn't imagine Tosh doing what he did every night, lying bruised on the pavement, in the gutter, hiding it so carefully the next morning. She wasn't like him. She still saw the best in people. Hell, she could see the best in Owen. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps, for Tosh, there were some words, some gestures that could help.

He opened the black case and slowly rotated the bracelet inside, letting the diamonds spread their fragments of reflected light across the room. It was beautiful. He had known Lisa would love it from the moment he saw it in the shop window. He had been right. She had been so happy she squealed, much to the shock of her workmates and his emabarassment.

Closing the case he put it carefully inside the shoebox, and after a few moments thought he wrote a short note to accompany it. Then he grabbed his coat and went out once more.

.

The next morning Owen was alone in the hub with Ianto. This was not an arrangement he was happy with. The girls and Jack may have been placated by a few tears, but to Owen's mind the teaboy had not been held accountable for his actions. He was pretty sure there was some sort of policy against keeping half-dead cybernetic lovers in the basement. And yet Jack had seemingly done nothing, no Retcon, no enforced resignation, not even a bloody pay cut. So he had shot the young man a venomous glare and holed himself up in the autopsy lab without a word.

He then proceeded to get very bored very quickly. For a while he amused himself with fantasies about what he was going to get up to with Gwen when she got back, but even that felt a bit tainted. Damned alien mind reading pendants. Now she was going and getting all guilty about it, whining about Rhys, and he actually had to think about what they had instead of just enjoying the ride. And it had been one wild ride, no one could deny that…

The sound of the hub door sent Owen rushing to the keyhole. Ah, shit. It was Tosh. Owen really didn't feel like talking to Tosh, almost as much as he wanted to avoid Ianto. The two members of Torchwood's latest club - the 'my boss killed my homicidal alien girlfriend' society - confused him, his anger towards them tinged with uneasiness and conflicting with his concern as a doctor for their wellbeing.

Not that it was sympathy or guilt that motivated him to keep his distance, not at all. Owen Harper didn't do sympathy, no matter what anybody said. All concern was purely professional.

Oddly, Tosh didn't sit down at her desk and avoid eye contact with everyone as usual, but instead walked straight up to Ianto. Owen noticed that Tosh was holding something, and whatever it was it was cupped in her hands almost reverently. Ianto went still as she approached. For a moment neither spoke.

"This was hers, wasn't it? I… You don't have to do this, Ianto. You've been so kind to me already."

"I'm only repaying a fraction of what you did for me. Please take it."

Owen suddenly felt extremely awkward, an intruder in a conversation that was not his to hear. Worse, it looked as if Tosh had started crying. Owen felt he should look away, but human nature held the upper hand and he kept watching.

"It's the same box. You kept it."

"I'm an archivist. It's compulsive, I'm afraid."

Tosh looked up and gave the young Welshman a stunning, brilliant smile. Reaching up she kissed him on the cheek. Ianto seemed slightly surprised, then leaned over and brushed away a tear from the corner of her eye, an intimate yet innocuous gesture.

A few moments later Gwen and Jack arrived and everything slid back into routine. Owen even managed to convince himself the twisting feeling in his stomach was definitely not jealousy.

* * *

_That particular shoebox only survived a few more days, thanks to some small fluffy purple tourists from Alpha Centauri whose children went on a rampage through the Hub chasing the 'giant flappy flappy'. Poor Myfanwy hid in the rafters for a week. __But there were always more shoeboxes replace it, and always reasons to do so._

_The day after Tommy went to his death Tosh found a shoebox on her doorstep._

_On her birthday, when nobody else remembered, Tosh found a shoebox propped against her chair._

_The day after the last of Ianto's Torchwood London colleagues killed herself he found a shoebox on his desk._

_The day after Owen knocked back a tentative invitation for drinks one too many times Tosh found a shoebox under her computer._

_On the anniversary of Canary Wharf Ianto found a shoebox tucked in the archives, sitting on top of the files on Torchwood One personnel lost to the Cybermen._

_In a sense it was one of the oldest traditions of all time – the tradition of the giving of gifts between friends – but the strength of the memories attached made it so much more than that._

_It typified their relationship, one that was possibly unique within Torchwood because it existed entirely separate from sex, the promise of sex, the desire for sex or, in fact, any form of sexual tension whatsoever._

_A relationship based on two people who noticed things, and a tradition based on a simple message: when nobody else does, someone sees, and someone cares._

.


	15. When Jack met John met Ianto

**110 reviews. No friggin way!**** Even better than chocolate cookies… I adore you guys, and I'm glad you like the stuff I write. I've never been very good but hey, if it can make you laugh or cry I must be doing something right. **

**Anyway****, my final exams are coming up and I'm revising from now (my head is full of differential calculus, trigonometric integration and the normal approximations of binomial data… and I haven't even**_** looked**_** at matrices yet) so new chappies are going to be few and far between for a while. Sorry. Here is some fluffy silliness as an apology…**

**Disclaimer: yeah, because all high rating BBC shows are owned by aussie highschoolers. Everyone knows that.**

* * *

"Gwen… it's almost midnight. Why are you calling me?"

"I know, I know, but just as I was leaving someone turned up at the Hub. And by someone I mean John. It was John Hart."

"Oh god… what happened? Are you alright… Jack! Is Jack ok?"

"Sort of…look, first they tried to bash the shit out of each other, then they got sick of that and started playing drinking games. Two bottles of scotch in and they were sobbing and hugging like long lost brothers … and then the Hub ran out of alcohol so they went downtown -"

"But is Jack _alright_? Where is he now?"

"That's the problem - now Jack's stark naked and passed out on top of the SUV and John is crawling around Roald Dahl Plass on his hands and knees serenading stray cats. I need you, Ianto… I don't know what to do any more – do I give John a hand or put a bullet through his head? I'll warn you now… I really like the sound of the second option. He bloody _groped_ me."

"Tempting, but don't. I'm coming. Hold on."

* * *

"And I-I-I…. Willll allwaaays loooove you-u-u…"

"Put the cat down _now_!"

"But who is this? Who is this gorgeous tall angry person? Look who it is everybody… Eyecandy! Say hello everyone, now say hello to my pretty new friend…hic… No, no don't do that - don't take away Mr Kitty! He's so fluffy… he reminds me of a girl I knew on Vitleysin 12…"

"I don't care. This is not Vitleysin 12. It is Earth and our cats are defenceless animals who cannot possibly give informed consent."

"He licked me first."

"Give me the damn cat."

"Oh, fine then…Why will you people never let me have any _fun_?"

"Because we love to watch you suffer. Now you're coming with me, Mr…uh, Hart."

"Call me Vera, please, all my most _special_ friends do."

"Just get up."

"Alright, alright…oomph-"

"Shit… here, steady now. I've got you. One step at a time."

…

…

"You smell delicious, Eyecandy."

"And you smell like the pavement outside a nightclub. A cheap nightclub. Get in the car."

"Or what, you'll manhandle me? Sorry to break it to you, darling, but that's more a reward than a punishment. Not that I would mind a bit of punishment if it came from you…"

"In!"

…

…

"So… where are you taking me, Mr Bond? Got any more secret bases tucked away? Ha ha, I just love the fact you live in a fucking statue… "

"We're going to a hotel."

"A hotel? I like the sound of that. The sooner I can get you out of that disgustingly crisp suit the better. I'll even let you keep the waistcoat. I like the waistcoat."

"You're drunker than I thought."

"Oh, come on. You know you want to. Jack won't mind, not really. He'll be thanking me. I can teach you things that prude hasn't even dreamed about. I bet you're flexible and… well, you're young. You'll heal."

…

…

"Do you realise everything he does with you I showed him first? He was mine before you ever laid… laid eyes on…hic… him. Mine."

…

…

"You're just a shag for when he's bored, you do know that don't you? The little secretary who doubles as the department whore. He should give you a pay rise. Or a badge. A nice shiny badge."

…

…

"You can keep pretending to ignore me, office boy, but you know the minute you go home he's looking elsewhere. Strangers in bars or just out on the street. Or maybe closer to home… those big doey eyes and that little gap tooth smile are really quite adorable, even if she is a bit chunky for my tastes… "

"Get out of the car."

"Finally a reaction! Round of applause, please, ladies and gentlemen. The truth hurts, kid. It hurts but it is powerful. Frees you."

"Really? Pity you only speak bullshit then. Now get out of the car. This is the hotel."

"I'm not going anywhere until you answer my goddamn question!"

"You didn't ask a question."

"Oh really? Huh. It's only completely fucking obvious, office boy. Don't play coy with me, it makes me angry. What have you got? What have you got that I haven't? Don't look away like that! Give me a damn answer!"

"I don't know."

"What? You 'don't know'? Bloody brilliant. So very believable too. I should have known. All men in suits are liars."

"I said don't know!"

…

…

"We used to be good together. He loved me once."

…

…

"I mean it. He really loved me."

"I… I know. But he's spent the last two centuries running away from the memories of the person he used to be. Which includes you."

"So I get eggs… oh, what's the fucking word… exxx… exiled? I get _exiled_ from being around him because he's a coward?"

"He's not a – John, look at it like this. He's been through hell and back this year. He needs to recover. That's why you need to stay away. Do you understand that?"

…

…

"Yes."

"Good. So get out of the car, sleep off the booze and leave tomorrow morning."

"Fine. It's just…"

"What?"

"I don't have any money. Spent it all on drinks. Lotsa drinks. And strippers. And the Ferris Wheel was expensive."

"What were you – no. I don't want to know. I've got enough on me for a night's accommodation and a plane ticket to anywhere in Europe. Here."

"If I take this, does it technically make me a prostitute?"

"Would that make any difference?"

"Pretty, resilient _and_ a sense of humour. That's definitely not… hic… fair."

"_Goodbye_."

"I'm going, I'm going. Thanks for the lift, Eyeca- Ianto. Ianto Jones."

"My pleasure, Vera."

* * *

"Ianto?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"I've just woken up covered in bruises with a splitting headache and I can't find my pants… Did we just have a very good time last night or am I missing something?"

"Well Sir, I would say that you and Captain John Hart had a 'very good time' last night, but as I wasn't there except to clean up after you I cannot really comment."

…

…

"Stop joking. It isn't funny. Stop it now."

"Not a joke I'm afraid, Sir. If you are having trouble remembering I believe we caught most of it on CCTV..."

"R-Really?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Right. Um. I… ah. Excuse me a moment."

"Certainly, Sir."

...

...

"That was cruel, Ianto"

"Yes it was."

"We should have told him they only got drunk and roughed each other up a bit."

"I know."

"He's going to remember in a moment."

"I know."

…

…

"IANTO!! GWEN!!"

…

…

"That was definitely worth it."

"Yeah. Coffee, Gwen?"

"Yes, please."


	16. House of Cards

**I realised after doing this that I write Gwen really badly. I'm sorry. It's because, to be honest, I don't like her much at all. But I don't like going Gwen-bashing because frankly it always comes across as immature.**** So my Gwen is an unhappy compromise. Please bear with it… I promise juicy Janto angst further on in the chappie.**

**Disclaimer: ****I like ice-cream, but I don't own the rights to it. Now replace 'ice-cream' in that sentence with 'Torchwood'. **

* * *

_Yesterday Gwen Cooper had seen things that terrified her. She had had her convictions shaken and a new respect for - and fear of - the rift was the result. But she was determined not to think about that. Today, she was going to have a normal day, chat with her colleagues…and just not think about that poor mother crying…_

"_Morning, Tosh."_

"_Good morning Gwen. Jelly baby?"_

"_Ohhh. Yes please!"_

"_Green or orange?"_

"_Oh, definitely not green. Not after that thing last week." _

"_Good point. It's so sad, isn't it? This job even spoils our appreciation of jelly babies."_

"_Damn those aliens, anything but that!"_

_Tosh giggled and Gwen took a deep breath. See, it wasn't so hard. Just be normal. You'll forget soon. _

"_What's with Owen? He's being very quiet."_

_Tosh rolled her eyes and shot a glare toward Owen's computer._

"_Browsing through the CCTV again, probably. He's terrible. Last week he found some stuff with Jack and Ianto… well, you know, it was, um… yeah. So I deleted it. But he keeps looking. Anything to torture poor Yan with."_

_Uh oh. Tosh's comment brought back an embarrassing but not entirely unpleasant memory to Gwen's mind. Walking in on them had been awkward, but she had to admit it had afforded a quite nice view… for Ianto's sake she hoped Owen's short attention span would save him the humiliation. Gwen realised Tosh was still talking to her. _

"_Gwen, um…I don't mean to pry, but have you decided to let the case drop? The missing boy?"_

_Gwen hesitated, then did something she didn't often do. She lied._

"_Yes. I guess some things just can't be done."_

_Tosh nodded sympathetically. Suddenly a triumphant laugh came from Owen's general direction. He had his eyes fixed on his computer screen, and Gwen didn't need to look to see what was playing. _

"_Owen, don't…"_

"_Oh lighten up, Tosh – and next time you talk to the teaboy you should ask him what the rules to naked hide and seek actually are."_

"_Ask him yourself, Owen. He's right behind you."_

* * *

When Jack left Gwen he came back, as he always did, to the Hub. He came in search of answers and explanations, at the same time he knowing that in his anger he wouldn't listen to them.

Ianto was in his office. Kneeling in the corner, he was in the process of rearranging boxes of incomplete paperwork. As Jack walked in he didn't even look up. The man had betrayed Jack for the second time, discovered then revealed one of Jack's most closely held secrets, and he didn't even look up.

Jack swallowed a growl and threw himself into his chair. Two could play at that game. Pulling out a pack of cards he began to balance them carefully, deliberately analysing each one before adding it to the swaying house-like tower.

"Didn't expect you to still be here."

"I'm almost finished, Sir."

Queen of Clubs. Two of Hearts. It had to be Ianto. No one else had the access to put the pieces together, and even Ianto shouldn't have been able to work it out.

"I just left Gwen."

Five of Spades. Two of Spades. Nine of Diamonds. How could he sit there, so silent, so at ease? Did he think Jack wouldn't work it out?

"She found her missing boy. In fact, she found them all. Every one of them."

Ace of Clubs. Seven of Hearts. King of Diamonds. And still Ianto didn't respond.

"Aren't you curious? It was quite the mystery, all those missing people…"

Ianto threw down the files in his hands and got to his feet, a strange little cynical half smile on his face.

"Stop it. We both know I told her where to find them."

He had expected denials, perhaps apologies. He had been ready for those. But not slightly bitter composure. Jack pulled out the final card and stared at it. A Joker. When he spoke he put the all the intensity - and all the menace that countless decades can teach - into four carefully chosen words.

"What did you say?"

"I told her where to go. I gave her a bloody map. Don't look at me like that, Jack. Given the choice, I would do it again."

Jack slammed Ianto against the wall so hard that the desk shook, and the cards tumbled to the floor.

* * *

"_Ask him yourself, Owen. He's right behind you."_

_Gwen__ turned around and then did a double take – Tosh was right. Damn, that boy was quiet. She hadn't heard him come in. Something about his clothes looked very odd… nevermind. This was no time for a fashion critique._

_Owen opened his mouth, then shut it again when he caught the terrifyingly calm expression on Ianto's face. And the raised eyebrow. Gwen decided to secure herself fast, jumping in before Owen could speak. _

"_Don't look at me. He got it on the CCTV."_

"_Yeah I – what? What has she got to do wi- …ah. What has Gwen seen, teaboy? You know, if you're gonna do the boss in his office you can't expect much privacy."_

"_Clearly I can't expect any privacy at all. Tosh, I found the di-acidic RNA reconstruction cube, it's down in section F if you want to take a look at it. Gwen, Andy is on the phone. Owen, Jack wants the tissue biopsy from that thing with tentacles by the afternoon…and to answer your question I'll just say that it involves, among other things, your desk and that chair you're sitting in."_

_Tosh paused only to join Gwen in laughing at the sudden wash of green across the doctor's face before heading down to the archives to find whichever obscure piece of alien tech that would be the new focus of her insatiable curiosity. Owen fled almost as fast, looking at his chair as if it was going to bite._

_Ianto, looking satisfied, started towards the kitchen. Gwen smiled and shook her head. You always have to watch out for the quiet ones. _

"_Ianto! Wait a moment…"_

* * *

"What made you think you could ever have the right to tell her? You weren't even supposed to know. But I see now, I can't trust you. I should have realised that the first time. Dammit, no one was supposed to know!"

Ianto was gasping for breath, but he didn't fight back. Jack could actually feel him shaking slightly, and tightened his hold, crushing the young welshman harder against the unyielding bricks. Neither of them broke eye contact. Neither of them backed down.

"Of course I knew, Jack! You put the paperwork on my desk every week! You didn't think I would be just a little suspicious that we were paying for power to a building that seemingly doesn't exist? For fucks sake, who do you think ran the place when you were gone? Did you never wonder? But I never made you talk about it. I respected your privacy."

"Of course you did. Running to Gwen the minute the opportunity presents itself…that really is the height of _respect_, isn't it? If you had the slightest scrap of loyalty, why would you do that?"

"Because you needed absolution!"

It was frightening how completely those four words immobilised him. Jack just froze. Ianto hesitated only a moment before continuing, quickly and without pausing for breath, as if he were afraid that once he stopped talking he wouldn't be able to start again.

"I saw what it was doing to you, holding that secret inside. I saw you… when Gwen brought up the missing people, I saw you shaking afterwards. You needed someone – not just anyone, not me - to tell you that what you were doing was justified, convince you that you were doing the right thing. I couldn't give that to you, because I'm not her. That's what she's here for. She's here to be your conscience."

It hurt because it was true. That was why she was here. That was the role she filled that no one else could, because they had all – Owen, Tosh, and Ianto, especially Ianto in such a short life - seen to much Her sheer soft hearted naiveté, the relative normality of her life and her relationships, what she had with Rhys… she had become a symbol of the humanity they fought to protect, a gauge to balance his decisions against. When it came down to it, what he wanted from Gwen was for her to be his conscience.

"My… conscience? Maybe. Then what does that make you?"

"Your punching bag, apparently."

Ianto delivered the comment without reproach, sounding dryly amused if anything, but his breathing was unsteady. Jack looked for a moment at his own hands, his fingers digging painfully into Ianto's arm, and drew back as if burned.

For a long moment nothing happened, then very slowly Ianto stepped away from the wall and straightened his jacket. Jack didn't move. He wasn't sure he still could. Ianto had his eyes downcast and began, incongruously when you considered the events of the past few minutes, to carefully pick up all the fallen playing cards. When he was finished he placed them on Jack's desk.

"I don't expect you to forgive me, or trust me again. But I don't regret what I did."

Jack looked at the young man who had betrayed him today for the second time. The young man who had hurt him more than any other person had managed in centuries. The young man who was not the one using a fake name, not the one who had disappeared for months without a word, not the only one to keep secrets. The young man who would go home tonight with bruises because he, Jack, could not control his own temper.

Ianto waited, and when he received no response he turned and began to walk away. Just as he crossed the threshold of the door words burst out from Jack, unstoppable, unsure and desperate.

"Don't go."

Ianto hesitated. Jack held his breath and hoped.

* * *

"_Ianto! Wait a moment…"_

_Ianto stopped, politely curious. Gwen looked around to confirm they were alone, then reached out and put her hand on his arm._

"_Thankyou. For giving me the map. I – I needed to know, and you understood that. I know it wouldn't have been easy to, um, go behind Jack's back like that. So thanks." _

"_You don't need to thank me. You would have found it eventually on your own. I was just trying to – I don't know, minimise pain on all sides I guess."_

"_Was he furious?"_

"_He was…annoyed."_

_Gwen sighed. Ianto clearly wasn't planning on giving her any more information. Not that she blamed him. Privacy was a rare and precious commodity in the Torchwood family. Still, at worst Jack would sulk for a while._

"_Well, if he stays grumpy feel free to come bitch to me about it."_

"_Offer noted and taken into consideration. Hey…you better not keep Andy waiting."_

_Ianto walked away, and Gwen finally worked out what it was about his clothes that had been bothering her. Slow realisation dawned, and briefly inside her feeling of gladness for his sake was at war with her own jealousy. _

_He was wearing the same clothes he had worn yesterday._

_._


	17. The Wrong Years

**Warning: If you don't like it when I do nasty things to Ianto, don't read this one. (I never claimed to be well adjusted.)**

**Disclaimer: The only things I own in this world are two blue pens, half a computer, my dog and a piece of yellow ribbon with a button sewn on. I can see how it would be easy to confuse these things with the intellectual rights to a major TV series, so this disclaimer is here to clarify any doubts that may exist as to that issue.**

* * *

_She was chained, and it was wrong. For a year she was bound by the dark intruder, shackled to a fractured reality, holding a flawed and tainted universe together at the seams. For a year she waited, and then finally he came again and set her free. Her Lord of Time, glowing with the power of the vortex, released her. And so she reached out through the myriad of tangled timelines, through the infinitely expanding alternate planes of existence, searching for the one that felt right__… _

_._

_._

_._

Owen was doing it again. Pacing up and down, tapping his wrist with that damned pen. Ianto clenched his teeth and said nothing. He couldn't blame Owen. The tension was unbearable. It was bad when you were in the truck, but it was worse sitting here in the Hub when it was Tosh and Gwen's turn to make the trip.

Torchwood: Alien Hunters. That's what it said on the label, and that's what Saxon used them for. Hunting, tracking and killing. Then taking the remains in a truck so he could watch them burn. Except that the bodies came from the morgue more often than not, and they had done for two months. That was two months longer than Ianto had thought possible. Two months, and forty three aliens safely out of Britain.

The comm. crackled, and Ianto hit the button.

"Gwen? On schedule?"

"Yeah, but there seems to be a hold up at the checkpoint."

"What sort of hold up?"

"I don't know, I…hey!"

Owen's head jerked up, and a moment later he was at Ianto's side leaning over the communications set up.

"Gwen? Gwen, talk to me."

Silence, then some muffled crashes and what could only be gunshots.

"Ianto? It's Tosh, you have to run, they know, you have to get out…you hav-"

She trailed of with a scream, and he didn't even notice Owen pulling the handset out of his suddenly nerveless fingers. They'd expected this. It's just he'd always been sure he'd be the one in the truck when it happened.

"Tosh? Gwen? Speak to me, speak to me! Damn it, talk to me!"

Owens cries were drowned out by the siren. Hub breach. One glance and Ianto saw they were more than surrounded, the life-signs of humans and Toclafane filling every screen. A sudden feeling of purpose gave him strength. He reached out and pulled Owen away from the comm. Owen was crying, trembling. Ianto pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead and cradled the doctor's head in his hands, forcing him to meet his gaze.

"They're gone, Owen, but we'll join them soon. I need you to go down there and flick the switch. You know which one. I'll give you the time you need. Go."

"But the guns…Yan, it will hurt…"

"I know. Go, and go now."

Without waiting for a reply he pushed Owen towards the stairs, and then turned to face the door. He was surprised to find he wasn't shaking, not even when it opened and the soldiers flooded in.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen. Is there anything I can do for you?"

A dozen semi-automatics swung his way, and masked lieutenant stepped forward to point a handgun in his face.

"Where's the other one?"

"He's gone out for pizza. Nice little place, just a few blocks away. If you care to wait he'll be back shortly, although I'm sorry but I don't think he'll have got enough for everyone."

"Tell me where he is, and you will be permitted to live."

Ianto hesitated, then leaned forward conspiratorially. The lieutenant took a step closer.

"Get fucked."

Ianto's last thought as the machine guns mowed him down was a twinge of regret that Saxon hadn't come himself. Two minutes later Owen overrode the main safety of the generator.

The resulting explosion tore up most of Roald Dahl Plass, taking down more than a third of Harold Saxon's personal guard. Rebels hailed it as a victory. The Master just laughed.

.

.

…_WRONG…_

_._

_._

It was just a few miles away from Berlin that Martha Jones gave up. She had come so far. She had done so much. Wherever she went she always left with a few more followers, a few more passionate young men and women dreaming of freedom. But as they moved across the irradiated wasteland that was once Russia they had been found. It was a massacre, a bloodbath, a scene from a nightmare. All they could do was flee, leaving the dying to scream alone. Her last companion had bled to death just an hour ago, leaving her to stagger forward through the wind and the snow towards the city. That was when the ice broke.

She never stood a chance. She was exhausted, starving, and the water was just a degree above freezing. She gave up. This was the end. She accepted that she was dead, allowing herself to sink down into the darkness.

It came as a considerable surprise when she woke, and even more bizarrely not to bitter cold but to warmth and flickering light. Slowly a face came into focus.

"How are you?"

"Cold."

"Well, that isn't surprising. What's your name, Miss?"

"Martha. Martha Jones."

The young man nodded at the name. He sounded welsh, and he had the saddest eyes she had ever seen. She wondered how old he was. He looked even younger than her.

"We've heard of you. Rest now. You'll be safe here."

She tried to shake her head, tell him she didn't need rest, but it was too much effort. She tried to keep her eyes open, and failed.

Time moved in a haze and Martha slipped in and out of consciousness. Faces came and went, speaking quickly in German, English, French and a blur of other languages. Occasionally a small Asian woman with a burn scar on her cheek would sit by her bed. Once the young man with the welsh accent brought her a cup of steaming coffee. As she reached out to take he had started, staring at her hand with what she could swear was recognition. No, not her hand. Her wrist-strap. He left before she could open her mouth.

When she could walk without assistance Martha was taken to meet Joshua Hall. An ex-UNIT officer, he was one of the many who deserted when the Master had shown his true colours. She liked him immediately – he was a straight-talking Scotsman with a fatherly air. After numerous unsuccessful attempts to convince her to stay, on the third day he finally offered her an escort as far as the new trainlines, where if she was lucky she could stowaway to any of the surviving European centres. She accepted gratefully, and within hours was ready to go.

They set off at sunrise and made good time, skirting the great furnaces and heading west. One of her escort, a young Italian woman, entertained them with stories of her childhood in Tuscany and the family goat, known affectionately as Dante. The welsh boy was with them too, walking a little behind in watchful silence.

The sun was just beginning to dip in the sky when Martha heard a familiar mechanical whine, a rush of air. She started to run.

They separated and fled, splitting the targets. Martha ran for the nearest building. Just as she crossed the threshold of the crumbling warehouse the ground beneath her moved, and she fell to the ground, only to be pulled up again by unknown hands.

Dragged inside, she looked around with increasing despair. There was no cover here, just blank walls. Then she spotted a patch of shadow, a small enclave hidden behind a fallen beam.

"There!"

Climbing into the tiny space, Martha turned to pull her rescuer down beside her. Beautiful, sad eyes met hers.

"Only room for one, Martha."

"No…"

"I'm sorry."

He pushed her down, out of sight, and turned away.

Soon after the screaming started.

She stayed in the enclave long after the sounds had stopped. Time had no meaning, only fear existed. Finally it started to get dark, and she forced herself to climb out.

The body of the young welshman lay right in front of her, every inch of the torso shredded but, somehow, the face untouched. Martha carefully lowered herself onto the bloodstained floor, nestled against the still-warm body and began to cry her heart out. She had never even asked him his name.

.

.

…_WRONG…_

_._

_._

They spent two weeks tramping around the Himalayas before they realised everything was going to hell. Cut off from the world they didn't have access to the news, and by the time they put all the pieces together it was too late.

They arrived at the safe house in Brazil to find a message waiting – hundreds of photos covering the walls. Photos of Rhys in shackles, Tosh's mother and Owen's parents blindfolded and chained, friends Ianto hadn't seen since school lying senseless on bloodstained floors. Other people too, faces they didn't know but didn't need to. And scrawled in letters three metres high across the grisly collage, the words 'come home.'

Three days later they handed themselves in. Owen and Tosh were led away first, holding hands as they were dragged down the corridor, fingers interlaced and faces free of tears. Gwen clung to him like a child, and he stroked her hair with a steady hand.

"We did the right thing, didn't we? We had to save them. We had to."

He didn't have the heart to tell her that, realistically, the hostages had probably died weeks ago, and if not they were now no longer any use and would not survive the night.

"Yeah. We did the right thing."

Ten minutes later they came for him, and at that moment all he wanted was for Gwen to stop crying out, to let him go and not fight them, because the sight of her fear was breaking his heart.

They blindfolded him and led him down endless halls, into the cold accompanied only by darkness and the echo of boots. Eventually he was forced to his knees, and he braced himself, hoping for the quickness of a gunshot, knowing that it wouldn't be so easy. The blindfold was pulled away, and he the first things he saw were eyes of a figure kneeling opposite, less than a metre away.

"Ianto?"

"Jack!"

The distance between them disappeared, and nothing else mattered. The feel of his skin, the scent of him– the two men gripped each other tightly, pressing closer and closer as if by force of will they could fuse themselves as one, inseparable to the end. Lips met then parted, tracing the curves of a face and the arch of a neck. Hands frantically caressed, reassuring that this was real, and they were here together. It was a bittersweet reunion; both mumbling the same thing through their tears; 'I thought you were gone. I thought you were safe, far away'. Laughter filled the room.

"If I had known it would make you this excited I would have brought your sex toy to you sooner, freak."

Saxon's words were ignored, Jack and Ianto unaware of anything but each other. Saxon frowned, and gestured for his soldiers to pry them apart. Slowly and deliberately he walked towards Jack, spinning what Ianto vaguely recognised as Jack's own gun around in his fingers. Leaning down, he spoke softly and clearly.

"I have a craving today, freak. I want to watch someone die properly. Permanently. And because I'm such a good host, I'm going to let you choose how. You have five minute before I come back in here and start playing."

Saxon grinned, and for a moment Ianto saw the madness that was there, just under the surface, veiled by games and words and arrogance. Madness and something that looked suspiciously like pain. The gun dropped in front of Jack. It was loaded - one bullet. The slamming door accentuated the silence. Jack picked up the gun.

"Ianto… the things he does… I have to. I have to do it."

"I know."

"I'm so sorry…"

"Shh."

"Oh god, oh god… I can't…"

"You don't have to, Jack. Give it to me."

"But…"

"Trust me. You trust me, don't you? It will all be alright. All I need you to do is hold me."

Two trembling bodies curled together. Arms tightened around waists, forehead rested against cheek, gun barrel pressed against temple. Outside the Master cursed at his monitor, because this wasn't how it was supposed to go. This was no _fun_.

"I would come with you if I could."

"I know. I love you, Jack."

"I love you. Oh Yan, I love you so much…"

Bang.

.

.

…_WRONG…_

_._

_._

"Stop sulking, Owen. Just because you chased the wrong person. I mean, it could happen to anyone. Well, it could happen to any man. I, on the other hand, have female intuition and a police officers eye for druggies. Even if they do have scales."

"Oh yeah, you're well known for your 'female intuition'. I mean, you voted Saxon. And he turned out so well. Oh wait… wasn't he the one who disappeared a week after being elected? You know, the giant conman?"

"Shut up. I didn't vote Saxon."

"Like hell you didn't! 'Oh, he's so eloquent… he's gonna bring about changes…' You were in practically in love with the man! You and enough of England for him to win."

"I keep telling you, Owen, I didn't vote Saxon!"

"Me, I always knew he was a loony. Completely bonkers. He twitched all the time, did that funny tapping thing with his fingers. And he always talked about bloody drums…"

Ianto leaned back and let the comfortingly familiar sound of Gwen and Owen bickering wash over him. Owen definitely had the upper hand in this one. Harold Saxon had seduced the nation. Well, most of the nation. In all honesty Ianto had always been a little frightened of him. Despite all that charisma, that brilliant wit and flair, when Saxon smiled into the camera his eyes had been empty.

In a way Owen was right. The man had been completely mad. But not your average crazy – he had never 'twitched'. It had just been as if he wasn't all there, some part of him obsessively pursuing an unknown goal, perhaps seeking something to alleviate that terrible emptiness.

"They are complete children, aren't they?"

Ianto nodded, smiling at the almost maternal note in Tosh's voice. Gwen often said that Torchwood was a kind of family. She had a point, though the truth was that none of them kept to any single role, whether it was as a sibling, a child or a parent. They all took their turns; they all spilled over into each others duties. Just like they did in their work. With true Torchwood timing, Tosh's monitor chose that exact moment to begin beeping. Very insistently.

"What is it?"

"It's the local police… something to do with a stolen car…"

"Um… you better take a look at this."

The four of them clustered around Tosh's desk, peering at the fuzzy footage onscreen. Owen rolled his eyes.

"A blowfish driving a sports car. Only at bloody Torchwood."

.

.

…_RIGHT…_

_._

_._

_Radiating happiness as only a sentient time-travelling phone-box can, the Tardis carried the Lord of Time and his children home. _

_._

_._


	18. Eight Green Bottles

**Ok, this is a short one. ****A little plot bunny thingy. There's this bit, in Dead Man Walking, where Owen walks up the stairs after being resurrected and his hand is moving along the handrail… and Ianto's hand is resting on the rail… and just before they meet the camera moves away…**

**Anyway, I wanted some love between Owen and Ianto. ****(Nearly) entirely platonic love, so don't be scared. Doesn't challenge Janto. **

**Disclaimer: Insert Generic Disclaimer Here. Then read it backwards while doing a handstand. A secret message will reveal itself to you. It will say: 'what kind of idiot stands on their head reading things backwards?'**

* * *

Eight green bottles, sitting on the wall…not really, though. Two of them are orangey, one is deep blue and the rest are clear. Not a single green bottle. Eight bottles, and every single one is empty. That didn't take long. I need another fucking drink.

"Owen?"

I have a visitor. Whoop-de-fucking-doo. That's right teaboy; interrupt a man while he's drowning his sorrows. Well, dampening them. Possibly giving them a touch of pneumonia. I haven't got anywhere near drowning them yet. I will, though.

"Owen, what are you doing?"

"My mother was an alcoholic and I'm trying it on for size."

Kid can't think up a reply to that one, can he? Ha. Quite well put if I do say so myself. Not a hint of slur. Now if I can just stay upright…my god, I deserve a bloody academy award for this.

Oops, should have remembered the chair. Stupid chair. I'd kick it the damn thing till it breaks if it would just stop spinning around… upside down… I'm starting to suspect that the ceiling is not supposed to be vertical. Or move quite so much. I think I'm going to vomit.

Yep. There I go. Right on the teaboy's shiny shoes.

"Jesus, Owen…"

Uh oh. I'm in for it now. The tea fairy doesn't like it when his clothes get dirty. Is he going to hit me? He's crouching down, reaching over...he's gonna hit me. Shitshitshit.

Hang on, what's he doing? Hands on my shirt - undoing buttons. Warm gentle hands. This isn't so bad... But I'm not Jack. This is silly, he thinks I'm Jack…ha ha! Silly teaboy.

"Owen, stay still. You've thrown up all over yourself… let me help you get into a clean shirt, ok?"

Oh. Clean shirts, ok, in the cupboard, on the left – no, we're at the Hub, aren't we? No cupboard. No shirts. Not even a magical Welsh tea fairy can make shirts out of nothing. Oh god, what am I thinking? No such thing as Welsh fairies. Only Irish ones. Lepra–thingies, they like gold and weird shaped leaves…hey, where'd he get that shirt from? Smells like coffee and chocolate. Smells nice. He's moving me to the couch now, and it's making my head swim. I get it now, it's his shirt. Why does he have a spare shirt?

"Owen? Owen, stay with it. I'll get you a taxi home."

"Don't wanna go home. S'lonely at home."

I said that out loud, didn't I? But I was very, very quiet, and no one will ever, ever know. Except he's looking at me funny. His eyes have gone all soft. They seem more colourful like this. Blue-ey grey. Grey-ey blue. With a speckle of green on the side, heh – a side serve of green salad. Hey look, I made a funny! They only do that in the Hub, though. Outside in the sun they're very clear. Clear grey-blue. Pretty eyes. Not so pretty as _her_ eyes, though.

Her.

She is gone.

She has left.

"Fuck off, Ianto. Don't want you here."

"Owen, it's ok. Trust me, you won't remember in the morning. Just cry on me."

He has a point. He always makes so much fucking sense. I don't think he's a person, not a real person; he's a filing machine with a nice ass. A coffee-making paper-filing tea fairy. So crying in front of him doesn't technically count, right? Maybe it will help. It might help if I say her name.

"_Diane_…"

* * *

Eight green bottles, sitting on the wall…not really, though. Two of them are orangey, one is deep blue and the rest are clear. Not a single green bottle. Eight bottles, and every single one is full. Untouched, unopened. I need a fucking drink.

Except I'm dead.

Which means no drink.

It seems such a pity for all this to go to waste. I only ever poisoned myself with the best. Odd, really. I was never picky about the women. So indiscriminate, in fact, that a few of them turned out to be men. Which wasn't a problem.

None of that now, of course. I'm a honest-to-god zombie, right out of a bloody B-grade horror movie. All I need to do is drool a bit and develop an unhealthy fixation on brains. It's fucking ironic, that's what it is. My philosophy was always 'give your body what feels good, and screw the rest.' Now my body doesn't work, and the rest is all I've got left. I can't taste, I can't eat, I can't drink. I can't feel touch on my skin, I can't feel pain. I can't get it up anymore – you need some blood flow for that. This must be what getting old feels like.

I should give them to someone. Spread the love, spread the alcohol. They may as well be enjoyed, appreciated. I could give them to Ianto.

I wonder why do the bottles make me think of Ianto?

Give them to Ianto…why the hell not? Gwen's not a pretty sight tipsy, so she's off the list. Jack has his own, and plenty of it. Not Tosh. Just… no. Besides, I'm thinking the teaboy needs a drink or two. A bit of fun. God knows I owe him one. Just a few words - _I've seen you dissect alien corpses. I've seen you save so many lives. Are you really going to let this beat you? – _but they made all the difference. He wasn't patronising. I hate it when people are patronising.

"Hey! Teaboy! Have some booze."

"I'm sorry?"

"I can't drink it. You may as well. If I can't get trashed myself, I'm gonna get my kicks watching you come out of your repressed little shell via the wonders of 55 per volume pure ethanol."

"Right. As thoughtful as ever, Dr Harper."

"I aim to please, Mr Jones."

Sometimes I think if I ever had a little brother he would be like Ianto. Then again, if Ianto was my brother I'd be giving Jack a sock in the jaw. Zombie or not, I'm still the kids doctor. He can hide the bruises from Gwen and Tosh, but not from me. I don't know what he did to make Jack angry, but what's worse it was the day after Gwen caught them shagging. And then Ianto goes on as if nothing has happened. That kid makes me feel protective. In my opinion he mainly needs protection from himself.

"Oh, Owen? One question."

"What?"

"How many times, now, has Tosh told you she loves you?"

Quick rethink: he may also need protecting from me. Seriously, I give the man a gift and he goes for the emotional jugular.

"Don't go there, teaboy. It's none of your business."

"Tosh is a beautiful person, Owen. Stop being a prick for long enough to see that."

Damn him. I do see it. That's the thing. I know how special she is. Why would she want a dead man? She's in love with the Owen that was alive. Besides, I will tell her. Tell her that I feel the same. Just as soon as I work out how to say it.

After all, I've got all the time in the world. I'm dead. Nothing can happen to me now.

.

.

**Okay, a couple of people have asked about the bruises... the story behind that is in chappie 16, 'House of Cards'. Sorry, I shoulda mentioned that at the beninning...**


	19. First Dates

**I had a plot bunny attack of the sugar-coated variety. This one is actually happy! I've done my first exam now and it went well so… I wrote this. **

**Disclaimer: lalalalala not listening not listening too you they are mine… mine all mine… **

* * *

"_How are you, Ianto?"  
_

"_All the better for having you back, Sir."_

_  
"Could we maybe drop the "Sir" now? I mean, while I was away, I was thinking. Maybe we could, you know, when this is all done: dinner, a movie..."_

_  
"Are you asking me out on a date?"_

_  
"Interested?"_

_  
__"Well, as long as it's not… not in an office. Some fetishes should be kept to yourself."_

…

…

"_Looks like we're going to have to go through every draw, bin and plant-pot."_

_  
__"__Right, Ok. I'll do this floor, don't want you getting over excited. You take the roof, you're good on roofs."_

…

…

_"Jack? Why are we helping him?"_

"_He's a reminder of my past, I want him gone… By the way, was that a yes?"__  
_

_"__Yes. Yes...__"_

* * *

A perfect date. A perfect first date. Every moment of the play, the restaurant, the walk home in the moonlight… a perfect night.

I didn't think those were even possible.

Well, if anyone deserved it we did. Ianto did. After all the waiting I put him through. Every single time we set a time and place, every single damn time, my phone would go off literally half an hour before the date and I was called in again. Bloody Torchwood.

I got so angry about it. I yelled my head off, but he'd just give me a hug and say he knew all to well what it was like being employed by borderline schizophrenic alien-hunters, and it was all ok. Then he'd make some crack about Torchwood being the single greatest argument for inter-office relationships in the world. And I'd demand a share of whatever pills he was taking to stay so inhumanly relaxed. We laughed at that - he has a gorgeous smile.

I remember when I first met him. He brought me coffee. Served it up to me without needing to be asked, the perfect gentleman. It was his first day and he was nervous as hell. Normally I don't have any time for that, but uncertainty is strangely attractive on him. It's the contrast, I think, the hesitant eyes against the steadiness of his voice. The way he stands completely still and self contained, but a bit to the side so as not to intrude.

One thing led to another, and then – tonight. He dressed impeccably, of course. It's rather annoying, sometimes, to be out-dressed by your date, but I can cope. The play was brilliant - I laughed the whole way through - and the food was wonderful. Adorably, he got a bit of chocolate mousse on his cheek. Even better, he didn't seem to mind at all the funny glances we got when I leaned over and licked it off. I was surprised myself – that isn't usually my style. Now we're back at my place, and ever the patient one, he's on the couch waiting for me to slip into something more comfortable.

"Lisa? You ready? Your show is starting…"

"Coming!"

"I was beginning to think I meet need to come in there and tickle you out – oh, wow. How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Make an oversized, ancient Rolling Stones t-shirt look so damn sexy?"

That's it. He should know better than to tease me 'bout my shirt. I love this shirt. He's getting a pillow to the face.

"Ooomph! I surrender, I surrender, gerrof…"

"You should know better than to cross me, Ianto Jones… oh, Yan, what did you think of the restaurant?"

"I loved it."

"I can't believe you've never been there before."

"Be fair, Lissie, I've only been in London for six months."

"Well, I suppose I am willing to supply the local knowledge…"

I can ask him now. God, why am I so scared? I know he loves me. We've been together a long time now, even if we are doing things backwards and going on our first date four months in. Hell, he sleeps at my place more than I do. Just take a deep breath and slip it in.

"So… you wouldn't mind going back there next week? My parents are in town and I was thinking… maybe… we could go out…"

He's staring. Shit. Is he scared? If I'm perfectly honest he has every reason to be. If I bring a Welsh, white-as-a-lily boyfriend to meet the Hallett's – god, we're going to have a reverse "Guess Who's Coming to Dinner" situation on our hands. Dad lives at least a few decades in the past, and Mum is just plain terrifying.

"Lisa… really? You want me to meet your parents?"

"Of course. I love you."

I said it out loud…oh, that gorgeous smile. I'm melting again. If I don't kiss him now I'm going to explode.

"Oh Lisa, I love you t-"

He's having trouble talking. Probably because he has my tongue in his mouth. I can suddenly think of a few things I'd rather do than watch TV. A girl with a boyfriend like this shouldn't waste time.

* * *

"_I will kill her."_

"_Jack…"_

"_I will. I swear I will. I tell her that she is only to call me in if the world is ending – in fact, only if it's already half-way through the process of ending – and she's paging me already!"_

"_I'm sure Gwen has a valid reason."_

"_I ONLY LEFT TWENTY MINUTES AGO! God, can't that woman survive for one night on her own? You know, sometimes I think she's scheming. Every time we plan a date; ring ring. The pager is going off and it's Gwen. I mean, I know it's paranoid, ridiculous, but I just… why are you looking at me like that?"_

"_I'm remaining tactfully silent, Sir."_

"_What? Oh, God, SHUT UP! STUPID PIECE OF SHIT! I hate this thing. I hate my phone too. Bloody Torchwood. Bloody fucking Rift. One night! Is that so much to ask? I mean, really, in the scheme of things -"_

"_JACK! Just. Go. To. The. Hub. I'll cancel the restaurant and drive you in, so if you need back-up I'm there. You know you're going to do it so let's skip the ranting."_

…

…

"_Ianto, I'm sorry. What with the Hoix last week, and those idiots at UNIT losing the moon on Wednesday…we're going to go on this date. I promise. But…"_

"_Jack, stop apologising. I get it. We both know Gwen doesn't call without a reason. I work for Torchwood too… you may have noticed that."_

"_Oh, I notice alright. I notice very much."_

"_Don't try and be charming while you're fuming. It's a terrifying combination. Your eye is twitching and your eyebrows look like they have epilepsy."_

"_Meanie."_

"_Jack, just get in the car. You have a duty to Torchwood and it is more important than a date. Besides, the wait will make it better."_

"_Resorting to platitudes now, very interesting… who told you that one?"_

"_Just…past experience."_


End file.
